


Now my feet can touch the ground

by agirlnamedfia



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedfia/pseuds/agirlnamedfia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero is the popular kid. Gerard Way is the arrogant artsy kid. Mrs. Cunshaw is the bitch who makes them work together. And how is Shakespeare involved? High school AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Lena](http://aghostofasmile.livejournal.com) all the way back in 2007. Beta by Kay.
> 
> (Please take into account I was 19 when I wrote this, and don't judge the writing too harshly. :) I'm mostly putting this up here because people asked me to for archiving/downloading purposes.)

There wasn’t any question about it. No misunderstanding, he wasn’t going cross-eyed or blind. It was right there on the list, in black and white.

Frank Anthony Iero. Partner: Gerard Arthur Way. 

Well. Frank thought. Shit. 

+++ 

“Gerard! Hey, Gerard, wait up!” Gerard had just stormed out of the school, striding across the lawn to his car, when Mikey caught up with him. 

“Jesus, what crawled up your ass and died?” Mikey said. “I need a ride today, dick, or did you forget?” 

“Fuck. Off.” Gerard snarled, shooting a glare at a freshman that was in his way. Goddamn school and goddamn senior year assignment and goddamn Mrs. Cunshaw for setting this up and-– 

Mikey’s hand shot out and grabbed his upper arm, forcing him to turn around. 

“What!” he snapped. Mikey looked taken aback for a second before glaring right back. 

“Never mind, asshole. I’ll be damned if I’m sitting in a car with you like this. I’ll walk.” And before Gerard could react, he’d turned around and walked off, stuffing his headphones in his ears. 

+++ 

His mom had given him a lecture, his dad was pissed off and Mikey hadn’t said a word all evening. Five hours after storming out of the school and Gerard was still going strong. A little figurine his aunt had given him for his birthday once, a small hand mirror that belonged to an ex-girlfriend, both were shattered on the floor near his window. His music was blasting angrily in the background and he’d been pacing back and forth for the past hour. It was only when the music clicked off that he noticed someone else was in the room. 

“Okay”, Mikey said evenly, “say that, hypothetically, I’m not fucking pissed off at you anymore.” 

Gerard glared. Mikey ignored him and went on. 

“Then, hypothetically, you’ve got tell me what’s got you throwing such a hissy fit, before you a) blast all the fucking the windows out or b) get so worked up you’ll go on for another week. Do I really need to remind you of that time I accidentally threw out all your oil paints--”

“--Oil _pastels_ \--” Gerard muttered through clenched teeth. 

“--whatever, and you were not to be spoken to for two weeks, which resulted in multiple detentions and being grounded for a month because you couldn’t keep your temper in check?” 

Gerard tried to kick up the glare another notch and was itching to throw out another bitch à la “How about you _hypothetically_ deliver your ass to the hallway, you little shit.”, but he knew, though he wouldn’t admit it even on pain of loss of comics, that Mikey might have a point. Kind of. Buried deep down. Somewhere.

He unclenched his fists, let out a sigh and moved to sit down on the bed. The mattress dented as Mikey sat down next to him, patiently waiting for Gerard to put some sort of reasoning behind his behaviour. 

“You know that senior assignment that’s pretty much always been 'go see the spring play and sign the register in exchange for extra credit'?” 

Mikey nodded. 

“Cunshaw decided to change things up a bit this year. And by ‘things’, I mean ‘every-fucking-thing’.” 

Mikey looked sympathetic. “Bummer. What’re they making you do now?” 

“Play an assigned scene from Romeo and Juliet.” 

Mikey’s lips twitched. 

“With a partner.” 

Mikey pressed his fist to his mouth briefly to (unsuccessfully) attempt to hide the snort. “So. Uh.” He forced down a laugh again. “Who’s your partner then?” he asked, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep his voice even and calm. 

“Mrs. Cunshaw was very nice in explaining it all.” Gerard said, a sneer audible in his tone of voice. “ _‘You’ve got to understand, dearie, that there are more boys than there are girls in this school, so sometimes --you must see it was unavoidable, dearie-- sometimes we had to pair two boys together. I’m sure Mr. Iero will be perfectly understanding about this fact as well. And no, dearie, you don’t get excused for the assignment because you’re repeating your year and have already done a senior assignment last year. Now, off you go, dearie!’_ I swear to God I might actually strangle that overly perfumed, too heavily made-up and apparently unable to dress properly, overgrown old bat if she ever calls me dearie again.” 

This time Mikey didn’t manage to keep the laughter inside. He tried, he really did, but a single thought about what Gerard had just said and laughter, kind of a cross between hysterical giggling and maniacal cackling, bubbled out of his mouth. 

“You. He-- Iero?” He burst into laughter again. 

It took him a few seconds to get control over himself and when he did, he saw Gerard glaring at him again, so he put on his best innocent face. 

“Iero,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Like. _Frank_ Iero?” he asked, his voice conspicuously high. 

Gerard glared more. “Yes,” he replied curtly, clenching his fists in a vaguely threatening manner as if to suggest that Mikey had better _not_ laugh again, or the consequences would be dire. 

Mikey was mostly glad he was sitting on the side of the bed closest to the door as he darted out of Gerard’s room and into the hall, his cackles mingling with Gerard’s yelling and their mom’s shouts from downstairs to “try to keep it at least a _little_ down, boys, please!” 

+++ 

Frank had actually seen who he was partnered up with on the list before Gerard. He’d passed by when he was on his way to lunch, and he figured he might as well look who he’d gotten. He hadn’t been stupid enough (or brave enough, depending on how you looked at it, because it took some fucking _guts_ to endure Cunshaw’s overwhelming scent and tear-inducing ensembles in that overestimated broom closet she called her office) to go see Mrs. Cunshaw about it, though. Or maybe he’d just been in shock. 

No, instead, he’d gone to their usual lunch hang-out, affectionately dubbed The Wall. 

The Wall didn’t have anything to do with Pink Floyd, and could, to be entirely honest, scarcely be labelled as a wall at all. About 8 years ago, pre-Frank’s time but he'd heard the story, a few of the scarier geeks had started an experiment in the old shed at the very edge of the property that the handyman used to keep his tools in but which had then been mostly abandoned. Some of the substances that weren’t supposed to mix had found each other and, long story short, the place had gone up in the air. 

Now there was barely anything left except for two small stone walls, barely a foot high and crumbling, one of which Frank was currently perched on, cigarette stuck between his lips and his lunch spread out next to him, bemoaning his cruel fate. 

“No, I mean seriously? Gerard Way?” Ray asked incredulously, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline. “Man. Frank. Gotta say, I fear for you.” 

Frank groaned and shook his head. “I’m just gonna pretend I haven’t looked at that goddamned list yet and hope that when I look at it again, the names will miraculously have shifted.” 

“If by ‘miraculously shifted’ you mean ‘crossed out with Sharpie and re-written’, you might as well accept a zero, dude.” Bob said from where he was sitting cross-legged next to Ray. “You know how Cunshaw is about these things. She’ll drag you to her office, lecture you for at _least_ half an hour and then either not give you grades or force you to do it with Way anyway.” 

Ray looked dubious. “He’s right, you know. It’s not worth it, if only for that half an hour you’d have to be in her close presence during the lecture.” 

Frank sighed and munched on his sandwich. “Whatever. Fucking Cunshaw. Cunt-shaw, more like it.” He waved his hand in a meaningless gesture. “Change of subject, please. Who’d you guys get?” 

Ray grinned like the cat that got the cream and wound his arm around the girl who was sitting next to him in the grass, chatting with a few other girls that always joined them over lunch. “Chelsea.” 

“Oh you have got to be fucking _kidding_ me!” Frank yelled, half laughing. 

“Dude, who’d you have to screw to get partnered up with your fucking girlfriend, Toro?” Bob chuckled. “I got Janice Timmins,” he went on, “which, all things considered, isn’t all that bad. Could’ve been worse, right Frank?” 

Frank flung his leftover sandwich at Bob’s head. “Oh god, please shut up. I don’t want to even as much as _think_ about working with Way.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “I mean, fat I could handle. Weird boobs, bad personality, maybe some sort of fungus? But come on! Scary and inaccessible is an entirely other story.” 

Ray looked thoughtful. “Hey, isn’t Janice Timmins dating Way’s younger brother?” 

“Nah,” Bob replied, “Andy told us that was just a rumour, right Frank?” 

Frank shrugged, attempting to blow smoke out in a tiny ring. “How the hell would I know, man? I don’t really keep track of the love lives of the Way Brothers.” He tossed the stub on the ground, when in the distance they could hear a bell ring. 

“Fuck!” Ray scrambled up, quickly stuffing his things into his backpack “First bell already and we’ve got Chem first period after lunch, Bob. Get up! The lab’s on the other fucking side of campus! Up, up, up!” 

He dragged Bob to his feet and pulled him along in a half-running, half walking step, waving his hand in a vague goodbye gesture. 

“Well ladies,” Frank said smoothly, turning back to the girls with a smirk, “looks like it’s just you and me now. Shall I escort you to class?” 

+++ 

The next morning, the entire senior year gathered in the aula for first period. Mrs. Cunshaw was standing near the microphone stand, waving her hands in a passionate explanation of something to monsieur Grodin, the French teacher, and Ms. Teedle, the spindly biology teacher. 

“So,” Bob said. He and Frank were sitting next to each other at the very top; their feet perched on the adjoining tables, ignoring the dirty looks people around them were throwing. Frank had his nose stuck in a magazine when Bob spoke up. 

“So?” Frank asked, looking up from his magazine at Bob with questioning eyes. 

“So. Seen Jamia around lately?” Bob continued. 

Frank’s head shot up and he glared at Bob. “Yes, Bryar. How the fuck should I’ve seen her around lately, she goes to fucking _college_.” 

Bob fixed him with a look, and Frank sighed, pinching his nose. “No, Bryar. I haven’t seen her around. Nor do I _want_ to see that bitch around again.” 

In front of them Ray turned away from his girlfriend and towards them. “I heard she’s got a new boyfriend. Some artsy college dude.” 

Frank shrugged and turned back to his magazine. “Whatever. The cunt can do whatever the fuck she wants. Like I give a shit.” 

Bob was about to reply when Mrs. Cunshaw stepped up to the microphone and started her, most likely to be god awfully boring and long, speech. 

“Good morning, dearies!” she beamed at them, “I’m so glad you could all jo-” she stopped mid-sentence as the door of the aula creaked open again and a dark figure entered. 

“Ah, Mr. Way.” She said curtly. “How nice of you to join us. Better late than never, I suppose.” 

Gerard threw her a dirty look and then lifted his head up high, finding a spot while ignoring the sniggers that travelled around the room. Bob elbowed Frank in the ribs and grinned when Frank shot him a hateful glare in return. In front if them, Ray’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter, while Chelsea swatted at him and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “Be nice!” 

When Gerard had sat down, Mrs. Cunshaw turned her beaming face back to the rest of the group. “Well. I’m sure you all know why you’re here, I will not keep you waiting any longer!” Her hands were waving excitedly, her face beaming. Frank groaned to himself. 

“I can’t believe she truly thinks anyone’s gonna have any kind of fun with this?” he muttered, loud enough for Bob and Ray to overhear. 

“Hey!” Chelsea muttered back, “just because you got stuck with Creeper McCreep doesn’t mean the rest of us will suffer.” She shot Ray a smile. “I for one, do not mind the assignment at all.” 

Frank flicked her in the ear. “Yeah, you wouldn’t, would you? You get to play lovebird with Toro here.” 

“Mr. Iero. Ms. Greysand.” Mrs. Cunshaw’s voice suddenly rang through the aula, her eyes narrowed at the two of them. “Please be silent.” Frank shot her a sweet smile and bowed his head, trying to focus on his magazine again. 

“So, as I was saying, there are more pairs than there are scenes in the play so some scenes will be assigned to several…” 

Frank tuned her out. He’d already read the sheet, he’d got the memo; he knew how the fucking assignment worked. Technically anyway, because it was a mystery to him how the hell he and Way were supposed to succeed in working together without doing any bodily damage to each other. The guy was infuriatingly arrogant, and weird to boot. 

Pete, a junior from the soccer team, had once snuck one of Gerard’s sketchbooks out of his bag during lunch, back when Frank and his friends would still eat in the cafeteria, and he’d flipped through it and went around showing it to people. It turned out that mostly, all Gerard drew were monsters and banshees and demons and vampires and the like. Fucking freaky, Frank’d thought it was. When Gerard had found out though, he’d just snagged the sketchbook back, thrown Pete and him (like he even had a single fucking thing to do with it! Just because he'd been holding the sketchbook at the time) a condescending glare and walked out with his fucking nose in the air. 

Frank slowly let his gaze wander over the crowd, taking in the various looks of fake interest, the ones that have completely zoned out and one guy that was even drooling in his sleep. Then his gaze landed on his soon-to-be partner. He didn’t appear to be listening to a word the old hag was saying either; instead he had his headphones on and was sketching something on a sheet of paper in front of him. Frank leaned a little sideways, trying to see what it was, but the guy was too far down. Didn’t really matter anyway, it was probably just another vampire practically tearing the neck out of some girl or something like that. Fucking creep. 

He zoned out again and only refocused his attention when he got a sharp elbow jab in his ribs, courtesy of Bob. He was about to turn to him to ask him what the fuck his fucking problem was, when heard Mrs. Cunshaw calling out his name. 

“Frank Iero and Gerard Way, come forward, please?” she repeated, a sharp edge to her voice. She was peering at Frank and he scrambled up quickly. She might be a batty old woman, but she could, and would, still give him detention; and he’d rather avoid that if it was in any way possible.

Walking down, he could feel the eyes trained on him, could tell how many people were mocking him for his unfortunate fate. He gritted his teeth and scowled darkly. Fucking Cunshaw and her goddamn assignments. 

When he got there, he expected Mrs. Cunshaw to be glaring at him in full force, but instead her narrowed eyes were eyes trained on someone else. Mainly, on Gerard Way. She took a deep breath and then boomed in the microphone so loud, half of the aula jumped. 

“Mr. Way!” she yelled and even Gerard must have heard her through his headphones because he started and looked up. “You were late; you have, apparently, not heard a single word I have said; and now you refuse to come up here. If you do not stop discouraging this project and get down here right this instant, I will have no choice but to give you detention!” she snapped. 

The entire aula’s gaze was trained on him, but Gerard’s face was expressionless where many would have flamed up at the scrutiny and the public verbal lashing. He just picked up his things and made his way up the front where Mrs. Cunshaw was waiting, ignoring all the stares and whispers. He seemed calm and collected but when he came to a stop, Frank could see his eyes flashing in anger whenever Cunshaw talked to him. 

“Now, boys,” she said, her tone steely, “I am well aware that neither of you are very keen on doing this assignment together, but I expect you both to work together civilly, do you understand?” She fixed them alternately with a hard look and Frank nodded obediently, whereas Gerard just shrugged. She beamed, nodded and waved them on to monsieur Grodin for their scene. 

Monsieur Grodin, it appeared, had a stack of envelopes from which they got to choose, which he thrusted at them. Gerard conjured up a mocking smile and made an “after you, sir” gesture at Frank, causing him to scowl back and randomly take an envelop. He opened it, snagged out a piece of paper and shoved the envelop into Gerard’s hands, stalking out of the aula with a scowl firmly etched on his face. Fucking asshole, seriously. 

+++ 

“Oh no. No, no, no. Fuck!” Frank cursed. 

_Act 2: SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell._ The slip of paper looked inconspicuous enough, and when he’d taken a first look at it, he’d been sort of relieved. He didn’t figure that anything hugely embarrassing could happen in a fucking Friar’s cell. 

And then he’d gone looking online to see exactly what his scene was all about and of course, because the universe apparently _hated_ him with the fiery passion, he’d chosen the fucking scene where Romeo and fucking Juliet get fucking married. Of course. 

The ceramic vase his aunt gave him for his eleventh birthday whizzed through the air and smashed against the wall. God-fucking-damnit. 

+++ 

By Friday afternoon, the next week, Frank was frustrated. He was, in fact, so goddamn frustrated that he was just about ready to drop this whole goddamn assignment. But he’d been called into the guidance counsellor’s office at the end of last week and she’d warned him that his grades had been spectacularly bad all term and that he should really get his fucking ass in gear if he wanted to pass at all this term. 

So he’d gone off, very reluctantly, looking for his supposed partner. He knew the senior assignment was going to be pretty instrumental in him pulling up his grades, and for that he needed his partner. His partner who had, unfortunately, been ignoring him every fucking time he tried to approached him. 

He could see him now though, sitting on a bench near the parking lot, reading a book of some sort. Probably ‘How to kill off all my classmates in 12 easy steps,' Frank thought crankily. But it was the first time he’d seen Way when he was _not_ walking away from him, so he figured he’d better take this opportunity. 

He took a breath and plastered on a smile. 

“Gerard? Hey. Listen, I thought we could--” 

His voice trailed off as Gerard promptly got up and walked away. 

“--embarrass me completely in front of everyone. Fuck. Way!” he yelled, speeding up to catch up. “Way! Gerard!” he said, his voice rising. “Look, what the fuck is your problem, asshole?” he snapped, yanking on Gerard’s elbow and forcing him to turn around. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this fucking project for the whole fucking week and what, you gonna fucking keep walking away from me or what?” 

Gerard smirked. “Tut tut, Frankie. Such language.” 

My god, Frank thought, this guy is going to be the fucking death of me before all this fucking _shit_ is over. He took a deep breath and tried to control his temper at least a little. 

“Look," he said, his voice almost even. "I don’t want to work with you just about as much as you, obviously, don't want to work with me. But some of us need to actually get grades for this shitty thing, okay? So I'd appreciate it if you fucking got over yourself." 

Gerard smiled sweetly. "Must be a bother, no? Having slacked off all year and now having to depend on someone else to pass?" 

"Well, you'd know, wouldn't you, asshole?” Frank sneered, glaring and clenching his hands into fists by his side. _Christ_ , but this guy crawled under his fucking skin like no one else could. Drew the blood right from under his fucking fingernails. “What with the whole you having to repeat your senior year because you were too fucking retarded to actually _graduate_!" 

Gerard's punch hit him square in the jaw. It wasn’t much, strength-wise, but it was still a punch and he was worked up and pissed off and, what the fuck, this guy just fucking _punched_ him so Frank swung and hit Gerard square in the eye in retaliation.

Soon they were rolling over the ground, throwing punches and scratching and pulling each others' hair like two bitchy teenage chicks. Frank grunted when Gerard’s elbow connected with his ribs and he made to hit him in the nose, when suddenly he was pulled off of Gerard and an angry voice was yelling in his ear. 

Well, Frank thought. Shit. 

+++ 

His ribs were aching, he was sure there would be a fucking huge ass bruise tomorrow, and he could feel his lip was split. But when he looked to the side, he could see the skin around Gerard’s eye was already darkening and there were two pretty big scratches on the side of his neck. All in all, Frank grinned, the damage he'd done to the arrogant prick next to him was well worth the consequences. 

“Mr. Iero!” Principal Ellis snapped, and Frank immediately jerked his head up and schooled his face in a serious expression. Next to him Gerard’s scowl deepened. “Do not even try to give me that look, Mr. Iero,” She glared. “This is no light matter, and I don’t wish to see you laughing about it again, do I make myself clear?” 

Frank nodded. 

“Now,” she went on, “I’ve been informed by Mrs. Cunshaw that all this animosity is caused by the fact that the two of you are forced to work together on a senior assignment?” she asked. 

Frank and Gerard both nodded curtly. She sat down on her chair behind her desk and fixed them both with stern glares. “Well. I see only one way this can be resolved.” 

Frank looked up, hopeful. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gerard doing the same thing. Could it be? Could she be implying that-- 

“You will both work on this assignment in the school library. Under supervision to ensure you both behave _properly_.” 

Frank literally bit on his tongue to stop himself from uttering some words that would most surely land him in detention for the rest of the fucking year if he were to utter them in the principal’s office. Fuck fuck, fucking _fuck_! He’d thought that the assignment couldn’t possibly get any worse, but ‘lo and behold, apparently he’d been fucking wrong. It could. He looked to the side and saw that Gerard was staring at the principal with a look of disbelief in his wide eyes. Frank almost felt a little smug again, but then Gerard turned to him and scowled like he was the dirtiest, rankest thing Gerard'd ever seen and it was as if by miracle, there was that hot anger again. 

“Furthermore,” Principal Ellis continued, glaring at them yet again. “You will both serve two nights of detention next week, starting on Monday. You are seniors, you are the ones the younger years look to concerning how to behave in this school and I will _not_ tolerate boys in my school behaving like cavemen.” 

Frank tried to pinch the bridge of his nose unobtrusively. Two nights of detention and forced study time. Like he was a fucking freshman kid. His mom was going to fucking _love_ this.


	2. Chapter 2

The music was loud, something vaguely sensual with a deep bass that thumped in his chest. The whole room was dark and hazy with smoke. Frank made his way to their usual corner in the bar, greeting various people. 

“Hey, Toro. Chelsea.” He flung himself in the couch they had claimed as theirs throughout months of frequent visits. “Bob not coming?” 

“I don’t know,” Ray replied, “he said something about Chem lab, but I don’t think he’s gonna do homework on a Friday evening.” He shrugged, “I told him we were gonna be here, we’ll see if he shows up or not.” 

Frank nodded and slipped a smoke out of the pack in his vest. Lighting it, he took a long drag and let his eyes wander over the crowd. 

“What the hell, is it seriously almost 10pm already?” Chelsea suddenly swore. “Jesus, I figured since you only just got here, it’d be, like, I dunno, 8:30 or something. I should get going. Mom will blow a fuse if I’m not home by 10:15.” She grabbed her backpack and jacket and gave Ray a kiss. “See you tomorrow, baby? We have to start working on the senior assignment thing.” 

Ray smiled and nodded. “G’bye, babe.” 

Frank gave her a half smile and waved his goodbye, but his good mood had vanished at Chelsea’s mention of that goddamn senior assignment. It was like the goddamned thing followed him around everywhere. He took another long drag of his cigarette. 

“So, dude,” Ray interrupted his train of thought, “How come you were so late? Usually you get here before any of us.” 

Frank shrugged. “Lecture.” His mom hadn’t been too happy with the phone call she’d got from Principal Ellis and had sat him down, telling him exactly how displeased she was with him. He was pretty sure his ears were still ringing. “Stunning really, how she's taken up this role of being "the perfect mom" since she got a new boyfriend. Anyway," he took another drag, "I had to wait till she popped her sleeping pills before I could climb out of the window.” 

Ray sucked in a breath between his teeth. “What’d you do this time?” 

Frank narrowed his eyes. “Punched Gerard fucking Way in the eye.” He said, his tone steely, taking another drag and blowing out the smoke. “Even though the bastard fucking asked for it. Principal Ellis gave us both two nights detention and called our parents. Mom wasn’t too happy, to say the least.” 

Ray whistled and opened his mouth to make a remark but Frank stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and got up. “Look, whatever dude. I just want to not think about that arrogant asshole for the whole fucking weekend, okay? I’m gonna go get a drink.” 

He made his way to the bar without looking back to see Ray’s reaction. He was dimly aware that he wasn’t exactly being a great friend, but he’d just had a shitty day to top of a really shitty week. He needed to get some beer and he needed it now. 

“Sorry, babe, no can do.” Alicia shrugged at him from behind the bar. “We’ve had a few random checks lately, and I already got a warning. Serving alcohol to minors could lose me my license.” 

Frank cursed and slammed his hand on the bar. “Oh for fuck’s sake! C’mon Alicia, I’ve had a fucking _shitty_ day and a fucking _shitty_ week and I want a beer." 

"And I've told you, you ain't getting any here, Frank! Jesus, you think I like this?" she snapped. "Three fucking fourths of my clientèle is underage. But I'd rather this for a while than losing my license altogether!" 

"Fuck. Whatever, just give me a coke then," he snapped. She twisted around for a glass and seconds later his drink was on the bar in front of him, accompanied by an apologetic smile. He half-heartedly smiled back and was about to head back to Ray to apologize for his shitty behaviour when a hand on his arm stopped him. 

“Good evening, Frankie,” a soft voice drifted in his ears, and for a moment he felt the corners of his mouth lift like they used too, but then he remembered who the voice belonged too and sneered. 

“Jamia. How positively unpleasant to bump into you here. Please let the fuck go of my arm.” He bit out, blowing the smoke from his cigarette in her direction. Of all the things to top off his shitty day, this had got to be the worst. 

She waved her hand to clear the smoke and glared at him, but he ignored it. “The fuck are you doing here, anyway? I thought this place was too ‘immature’ for you?” He took another drag. 

Jamia made a face. “Julian wanted to come,” she replied, ignoring his second question. 

Frank snorted. “Right. And you followed him like a good puppy, didn’t you? My, if I’d known that giving orders was the way to get you to behave like a proper girlfriend, I’d have-- Yeah, no, I still would have gone and found my pleasures elsewhere.” He smirked. 

Jamia’s face had turned an unpleasant shade of red, and she opened her mouth to reply with an undoubtedly scathing insult, but Frank continued before she could say anything. 

“Well, darling, it was incredibly entertaining to chat with you, but alas, I must dash!” He flicked the ash from his cigarette in her general direction and bent over to kiss the air next to her cheek. “Ta!” He chirruped, and then pushed past without sparing her another glance. He was grinning widely by the time he reached Ray. His night, he had to admit, just got a whole lot better. 

+++ 

The first time they had a ‘supervised work session’, they didn’t really do much. Frank was already in the library, flipping through ‘The Collected Works of William Shakespeare’, looking for the right pages to copy out of the book, when Gerard entered, his face expressionless. As per fucking usual, Frank thought. 

Gerard flung himself in a chair at the table, pulled out his iPod and sketchbook, and ignored Frank completely. Frank scowled, thumped his book on the table and started flicking Gerard in the ear. 

“Hey. Hey. Heyheyhey--” 

“What!” Gerard snapped. Mr. Beechey, the librarian who had the ungrateful job of making sure they got along, looked up and shot them a look. He was generally a pretty okay guy, Frank knew, but he also knew that Ellis had told him, in no uncertain terms, to get them to 1) _work_ and 2) not kill each other. 

“So does this means you agree that you’d make the best Juliet, then?” Frank hissed back, glared. 

“What?” Gerard spluttered, “I didn’t agree to any fucking thing!” 

“Then stop fucking ignoring me and get to working on this goddamn thing.” Frank snapped. “I’m not liking this any more that you are, but you are truly deluded if you think either Beechey or Cunshaw aren’t going to check on our progress.” 

He sat down in the chair next to Gerard and pulled the copy of the Shakespeare book towards him. “So. Do you know exactly which scene we are playing?” 

Gerard was scowling at Frank. “No.” he said curtly. “I haven’t checked yet.” 

“Meaning you weren’t going to bother with checking at all, were you?” Frank forced himself to hold back a sneer, but the words came out before he realized. 

Gerard’s eyes flared and he was up in a second. 

“Boys.” Mr. Beechey suddenly said from behind them. “Mr. Way, might I remind you that you are required to stay here for another hour. Stay here and work on the assignment, Mr. Way, so do not bother to take out that sketchbook, unless you wish to be relieved of it for the rest of the year.” Gerard blanched a little, and Frank could feel a smirk coming on, though he tried his best to school his face into an innocent expression. 

Mr. Beechey shot him a sharp look. “Furthermore,” he continued, “I think it might be in your best interest to reconsider your attitude towards each other. I am well aware you fiercely dislike each other, but you might find it fruitful to try and at least be civil. I think you will find that that is the only way that that you will be able to suffer each others presence for the long stretches of time that will be necessary to complete this assignment.” 

And with that he turned around and went back to his desk, leaving behind two boys who were strangely silent and staring after him with wide eyes. 

“What the fuck, could you speak any more bizarrely?” Gerard muttered, forcing Frank to try and suppress an amused snort. Gerard's head shot up and his expression was a little bit hostile, but it softened when he was met with Frank’s obvious amusement. 

“Fine.” He said and extended his hand. “Civil?” Frank nodded and shook Gerard's hand. 

“Great,” Gerard said, and pulled out a few sheets of paper. “So, tell me what this fucking scene is all about.” 

“Well,” Frank started. “The good news is that it’s really rather short.” 

“Oh, thank God.” 

“The bad news, though,” Frank continued, “is that we get married.” 

+++ 

“Hey dude!" 

“’sup, Bryar. Toro.” Frank replied, high-fiving them. He opened his locker and dumped his calculus and Physics books in it. 

“So hey, man, you coming to the mall this afternoon?” Bob smirked, “Toro needs to buy a present for Chelsea.” 

Frank laughed and poked Ray in the sides. “Oh really, man? What you getting her then? A ring?” He fluttered his eyelashes, “Like, oh my god, Raymond. It’s, like, so gorgeous, oh my god!” he squeaked in a high falsetto, earning him a sharp jab in the ribs. 

“No.” Ray said indignantly, “I haven’t decided yet. So, whatever, you coming?” 

“I can’t, dude,” Frank replied. “It’s Thursday, I’ve got that ‘supervised worksession’ with Way, remember?” He made a face. Though it was true that they weren't prone to ending up in Principal Ellis' office as much as they used to anymore, bruised and on the receiving end of another verbal lashing, the 'sessions' were still his least favourite part of the week, by far. Granted, civil Gerard wasn’t as arrogant anymore, but he was still just as stubborn, and so far they hadn’t really been able to agree on anything important. 

“So skip it?” Bob said, shrugging. 

“I can’t, Bryar. Principal Ellis will blow a fucking fuse and I’d rather not be suspended for a simple trip to the mall, if it’s okay with you.’ He snapped.

“Whoa, dude, fine, whatever.” Ray says, taking a step backwards. 

Frank sighed. “Ugh. Look, I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to bitch but that’s the way it is. I can’t skip this shit, no matter how much I’d want to. Trust me.” He took the small amount of notes and the copies he made of their scene out of his locker with another sigh and turned back to Bob and Ray, who looked slightly mollified. “But, don’t fret, Toro. I’m sure it’ll be a _wonderful_ ceremony!" He smirked. Ray made to punch him in the shoulder but Frank dodged him easily. “So I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?” 

They nodded and Frank turned around and headed to the library. Gerard was already there when he arrived, sitting at the table sketching and, surprise surprise, listening to his iPod. 

“Hey,” Frank greeted as Gerard took his headphones out. 

“Hey.” 

Frank sat down on the chair across from him and arranged his notes in front of him. “So. I guess we kinda have to make a decision this time, don’t we.” 

“I guess we do.” Gerard replied, putting away his sketchbook (fucking _finally_ , Frank thought) and looking up at Frank with an (once again) expressionless face.

“Okay. So. I guess what we have to decide is what the fuck we’re gonna do.” 

“I guess.” 

He pulled the play towards him, gritting his teeth to avoid snapping at Gerard once again. It wouldn’t solve a goddamned thing, and would only result in another spat. Civil, Frank. Be civil, at least, he thought. “Okay. So. We have a scene. We have to 'set up an original performance of the scene, using any mediums at our disposal'. Right?” 

Gerard nodded, fishing what looked like a mechanical pencil out of his bag. 

“Okay,” Frank said. “I guess that means we could use music as well? Maybe?” 

Gerard shrugged. “I guess so,” he replied. 

Frank looked at him for a second, annoyance flaring up at how Gerard seemed to, as per usual, not give a fucking shit about their assignment; nor did he seem to be planning to put any kind of energy in doing anything useful. He took a deep breath and turned back to his sheet. 

“Are we gonna act this scene out?” Frank asked, going over the short scene they got. “That’s gonna make shit a bit difficult, considering we’ve got a scene that’s only, like, a page long. Plus, there's more than two characters, I think.” 

“I don’t know.” Gerard replied, absentmindedly doodling geometrical figures on the sheet in front of him. 

“I do suppose the shorter the better, because it means we won't have to be up there very long. Though,” Frank pondered, “I think Cunshaw mentioned something about a minimum time?” 

He leafed through his papers, looking for the assignment sheet and scanned it quickly. “Fuck. Yes. It says here that our scene is supposed to be at least 8 minutes long. Shit!” he cursed. “We’ll never make that if we just act the goddamned thing out.” 

He rubbed his temples. “I guess we’ll have to come up with something else then?” 

“Hmm.” Gerard made a vaguely agreeable noise, his eyes focused and concentrated on the sheet in front of him. 

Frank threw his pencil on the table. “Look, could you at least _try_ to make an effort?” he snapped, making Gerard’s head shoot up. “This _is_ a paired assignment, so we’re supposed to work together. This means you open your fucking mouth rather than just parrot 'I guess we do' or 'I don't know' all the fucking time!” 

Gerard just stared at him with an expressionless face. Frank resisted the urge to thump his head on the table repeatedly. Fucking _asshole_! He looked at the clock. Fuck. Another half an hour to go. 

“You know what?” he hissed angrily at Gerard, “Fuck you.” And with that he pulled out his own iPod and stuffed the headphones in his ear. He hid the latest edition of _Alternative Press_ in ‘The Complete Works of William Shakespeare’, threw Mr. Beechey an angelic look that said I’m-researching-no-really and then set out to ignore his companion completely for the next half hour. Two could play this fucking game. 

+++ 

“Where have you been?” 

The words rang in his ears the moment he stepped through the door and inside the kitchen. “Out,” Frank replied curtly, dropping his bag next to the coat-rack and toeing off his shoes. He brushed past his mother and went into the kitchen, opening up the fridge to grab something to eat. 

“Do not ignore me, Frank Anthony Iero!” his mom snapped. “Your worksession ended two hours ago. Where were you?”

“Out, mom!” he snapped back, slamming the fridge door shut. “I went to the liquor store, bought three bottles of vodka and got shitfaced. Can’t you tell by the way I can’t walk in a straight line anymore?” He took a gulp of the bottle of water that he’d taken and then continues. “I’m fucking 18 years old. Stop wanting to know every fucking step I fucking take. ” 

He walked past her and up the stairs to his room. “Fucking Nazi!” he muttered under his breath. He was almost at the top of the staircase when a hand grasped on to his elbow and he was turned around. 

"Don't you walk away from me, young man! Now you listen to me--" she screeched, but Frank yanked his arm out of hers.

"No, you listen!" he yelled back. "You haven't given a shit about where I hang out in months! What, you saw how your precious _boyfriend_ treats his son, and now all of a sudden you care?" he spat, "Well, _newsflash_ , mom. It's too goddamn late! You've never cared before, why the fuck start now? You had your chance, and you blew it on booze, pills and boyfriends. Your dear Ian is a far better father than you'll _ever_ be a mother, and there's nothing you can do to change that, so why don't you head over to the liquor cabinet and lay. The fuck. Off."

And with that he stormed up the stairs to his room and slammed the door shut. 

+++ 

Frank was leafing through a book on Shakespearean adaptations when a weight suddenly thumped on the table next to him. He started, ready to give whoever thought this was funny a verbal lashing within an inch of their sanity, but when he looked up he saw Bob and Ray grinning at him. 

“Jesus! Motherfuckers!” he laughed, swatting at Bob. 

“Guilty conscious, Frankie?” Ray smirked. “You jumped about a foot high. Which is quite the accomplishment for someone of your stature, I have to say.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Toro. You’re starting to sound like Beechey, with all the incomprehensible talk.” Frank mock-punched Ray in the shoulder and grinned. He hadn’t been in a good mood both yesterday and today, so consequently he hadn’t been all that good a conversationalist, but all the same he was glad that his friends hadn't taken too much offence. He’d told Bob of the conversation with his mom, and he was pretty sure Bob had informed Ray, but both of them hadn’t said a word about it and had instead let Frank’s snide remarks and outbursts slide right off them, not paying attention and knowing that he didn’t mean them. 

“Incomprehensible? Wow, Frank, such a big word for such a little guy!” Bob mocked laughingly, making Frank hold up his hands in defeat.

“I admit defeat! Clearly I’m up against unbeatable odds. Seriously, though, what’re you guys doing here?” 

“We,” Bob announced grandly, “are bailing you out.” 

Frank shot him a look. 

“Look,” Ray said impatiently, pointing to the front desk where a senior was currently leafing through what appeared to be an issue of Teen Vogue, “Beechey’s gone to the staff meeting and the twittering tart he placed as his sub is far too occupied with the latest love adventure of Orlando Bloom to make sure that you and Superfreak are here.” He motioned to Frank’s notes and copies that were spread out around him, “so get a move on and pack your shit before he _does_ get here and your chances of ditching are annihilated." 

“I don’t know…” Frank trailed off. “I’m not sure if that’s a really good idea, guys.” 

Bob made an impatient noise. “Come _on_ , Frank. Nothing is gonna go wrong. And you said yourself on Tuesday how much you’d like to get out of this shit!” 

Frank was still looking around uncertainly, his eyes jumping from his friends to the girl at the front desk, who had now whipped out her phone and was chatting animatedly with someone. He _had_ said that he’d wanted to bail out. And, God, if Gerard was going to be just as much an asshole as he was last time...

“Yeah, okay.” Frank said, and gathered up his things. 

“Sweet!” Ray exclaimed, jumping off the table and heading towards the exit, Frank and Bob following him quickly. “C’mon”, he said, “I heard Alicia’s got news from one of her buddies at the Investigation Control Bureau thing, whatever. Apparently she’s cleared and she’s serving us liquor again!” 

"Nice!” Frank grinned, pulling the door of the library shut behind them and making for the exit. 

+++ 

Frank had his fingers clenched around a beer bottle and he was tucked comfortably in a couch near the bar. Bob was sitting opposite of him, regaling them all with the tale of how Ms. Teedle had been unable to keep the class under control during his bio class but had desperately tried, emphasizing his story with wild gestures and a good imitation of her shrieking voice. 

“No! No! Jimmy, do not-- Stay away from that!” he mock-shrieked, and Frank almost doubled over with laughter, clutching his side. 

“Stop!” he gasped for breath, “seriously, dude, knock it off before I get a stitch in my side!” He stood up, still giggling a bit. “I’m gonna head to the bar to get another drink. Anyone else want something?” 

He collected their orders and started making his way through the bar. Apparently the news that Alicia was serving the good stuff again had travelled fast, because the place was packed, especially for a school night. 

“Hey babe.” Alicia greeted him. “What can I get you?” 

“Four beers and two shots of tequila, please, ma’am.” He joked, and threw her a smirk. She let out a burst of laughter. 

“Never took you to be one for role-play, honey. Four beers, Jeff!” she yelled at one of the other bartenders, while taking out two shot glasses and reaching behind her for the bottle of tequila. 

“Well,” Frank smirked, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me, is there?” 

She grinned at him as she placed the beers next to the now full shot glasses. “Sorry honey, but I’m not into jailbait,” she pointed at the drinks. “I’ll get Mallory to bring those over for you.” 

Frank nodded and blew her a kiss. He was already making his way back though the crowd, when a hand grabbed onto his arm. 

+++ 

It was pitch dark when he arrived at his destination, and the hands of his watch informed him it was getting close to 11PM. He stood on the pavement, his eyes taking in the looming presence of the house in front of him. There was a tingle of unease coiling in his stomach, and he brought his left hand up, nervously biting away at the nails. 

Frank barely understood why he was here. He hadn’t planned on ever coming here, and yet, here he was. Goddamn Chelsea, he thought.

> > He was already making his way back though the crowd, when a hand grabbed onto his arm. 
>> 
>> “Hey, Chelsea,” he greeted, as she pressed herself through the crowd and ended up next to him, “Ray was wondering when you’d get here.” 
>> 
>> “I had cheerleading practice,” she shrugged, taking his arm and tugging him forward through the crowd with her, “Speaking of cheerleading practice, I heard you skipped that work thing you’ve got with Way this afternoon?” 
>> 
>> For a moment Frank raised his eyebrow, because, what the fuck, in what universe was cheerleading related to his 'work thing' with Gerard, but then, Oh shit. Shit. She heard-- meaning that. Fuck. 
>> 
>> “Oh! Oh no, no,” she exclaimed when he turned to her with wide eyes. “Not like _heard_ heard, as in everyone was talking about it. No, it’s just that,” she crinkled her nose, “well, he talked to me when I left the gym.” 
>> 
>> There was a look of annoyance-bordering-on-disgust on her face and for a moment Frank felt a twinge of anger at the way she was speaking about Gerard. 
>> 
>> Don’t be stupid, he berated himself; the arrogant bastard brings it on himself! 
>> 
>> “...and then, you know, he latched onto my arm, which I of course shrugged off immediately because, I mean, ew.” She made a face, “He seriously needs to shower. And wash his hair. And a manicure? Wouldn’t go amiss either. Hey baby!” They’d arrived at the platform the couches were scattered on, and she let go of Frank’s arm and tucked herself in the couch beside Ray, smiling at him widely, and gave him a kiss. 
>> 
>> “Anyway,” she went on, turning back to Frank, “then he asked me where you’d gone? Said something about wanting to apologize or something, and about covering for you? I don’t know, I tuned him out, because, come on, it was hard enough to stand there and have the girls walk by and see us! Even if it was just him talking to me, it could damage my reputation, you know? But yeah, that’s how I figured out you’d split.” She giggled, “It was pretty hilarious actually, as if you’d actually _care_ , right, Frankie?” 
>> 
>> Frank nodded absently and ignored her twittering on. So Gerard had wanted to apologize. He felt another pang of discomfort, and it settled itself in his stomach this time. Gerard had wanted to apologize, and he’d split. 
>> 
>> He lifted his hand and bit his nails, tuning out the conversations around him, trying to reason himself out of feeling so uncomfortable. Gerard, he decided, was everything Chelsea said. 
>> 
>> That’s not true, a little voice whispered in the back of his head, and you know it. He’s not dirty or greasy or disgusting, none of the things she proclaimed. Sure, he’s an arrogant bastard, but-- 
>> 
>> But the last time they’d been in the library, he’d refused to cooperate, Frank reasoned, he’d been a bastard! 
>> 
>> But, the little voice replied, he had wanted to apologize, hadn’t he? And he covered for you! 
>> 
>> It didn't matter, Frank thought. Gerard was an asshole, and Frank didn’t care about the fact that he’d been wanting to apologize. Right? 
>> 
>> “Earth to Frank! Frank!” 
>> 
>> He started as he heard his name being called out. “What?” 
>> 
>> Bob laughed, “Dude, we’ve been yelling for, like, the past 5 minutes. Deep conversations with the voices in your head?” 
>> 
>> Frank laughed half-heartedly. “Uhm, yeah. Look, guys, I have to--” he looked around for his jacket and hoodie and fished the first item out from behind a mate of Ray that way sitting next to him, his hoodie nowhere to be seen. “I’ve to go,” he said, getting up and shrugging on his jacket. 
>> 
>> “What, but? Frank! Frank!” they called when he left the platform without even as much as a backward glance.

Frank went over the exchange in his head. Okay, yeah, he admitted to himself, maybe he did have a bit of an inkling as to why he was here.

He squared his shoulders and before he could change his mind, he walked over the drive-way and up to the door, his finger pressing the doorbell. 

‘Shit. I rang the doorbell. Shit. I gotta go. Fuck, why the hell di-’ Frank was cut off mid internal rant when the door suddenly swung open and a figure, framed by light, stood in front of him. 

“Uhm, hi.” He said awkwardly, trying to avoid looking at Gerard directly. “I, er. I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d drop by?”

Gerard was leaning against the doorframe by now, his ankles and arms crossed, and he let out a tiny snort at that. There wasn’t any hostility to it, Frank could tell, just scepticism. “Why do I doubt that?” His face became expressionless again, “what are you doing here?” 

Frank sighed and looked up, directly in Gerard’s face. He pushed his discomfort aside and scraped his courage together. “It’s about this afternoon.” He said evenly. 

“Oh, you mean, when you bailed out on me?” 

Frank winced. Gerard’s tone was mostly even, but he could detect some anger in there. This wasn’t going to be very fun. He could feel a nervous tension mounting in his stomach but he dismissed it. He’d come here to apologize and he wouldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ , back out now. 

“You’re right. I did.” He said evenly, lifting his head and looking Gerard square in the eye, “And I came to apologize.” 

Gerard looked momentarily stunned, his eyes wide in surprise. He stared at Frank for so long, Frank started to fidget. Now would be a good time to say something, Gerard, he thought anxiously 

“Oh. Uh. Right.” Gerard coughed. “I, eh, didn’t think you’d actually _admit_ it, but. Ehm. Okay.” 

Frank laughed for a second, before he contained himself. “So, uhm. I’m sorry about bailing out on you. It won’t happen again,” he said seriously. He didn’t have a clue why it was so important that Gerard knew he was sorry, but his breath was coming out in little puffs of smoke and his jacket was fucking _thin_ and he was pretty sure it was already past 11pm, so he hoped that Gerard got the message, because a little longer out here and his lips would turn blue. 

Gerard stared at him again for a few seconds and then shook his head. “Yeah, okay,” he said, half-smiling. “Apology accepted.” 

Frank shuffled his feet and smiled in relief. He was glad that Gerard hadn’t mocked him or anything, and hey, maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. He could have just as easily been a gigantic jack-ass, but instead he’d just accepted the apology. 

When he snapped out of his internal ramblings, it took him a second to realize an awkward silence had fallen over the porch. Gerard was still standing at the door, leaning against the doorframe, and Frank himself was still silently freezing up on the Way’s front porch, but they were both not saying a thing, and were looking pretty much anywhere but at each other. 

“So, uh. I guess I should probably--” he began at the same time as Gerard said “So, ehm. Do you want to come in?” 

“Oh! Sure.” Frank replied awkwardly, stepping over the threshold and into the house. At Gerard’s insistence, he took off his jacket, revealing the simple tee he’d worn to the club. 

Gerard raised an eyebrow and Frank flipped him off. “I was in a hurry, okay?” he said petulantly, making Gerard snort again. 

“I’m sure you were,” he said, smirking, “but I’m surprised you aren’t blue yet. It’s probably only, like, 44 degrees out there.” 

“Oh, no, I was definitely getting there,” Frank joked, “A few more minutes would have made a world of difference in my skin tone.” 

Gerard laughed, and gestured for Frank to go ahead. “The kitchen’s right through that door.” 

“Oh, uh, okay.” Frank said, and headed for the door he could see ahead. 

He stopped abruptly when he entered the room beyond. 

“Close the door, Gee, it’s getting drafty in here.” Mikey said, without looking up from the magazine he was reading, from where he was sitting on a high stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Uh.” Frank said. 

Mikey jumped and turned around, just as Gerard nudged Frank further into the room, closing the door behind him. Frank was standing awkwardly between the two brothers as Mikey raised one eyebrow at Gerard (a Way family expression, apparently) and then threw a meaningful look at Frank. 

“Shut up, Mikey.” Gerard said, “Frank, this weirdo is my younger brother, goes by the name of Mikey and was just about to leave. Right, Mikey?”

Mikey barked out a brief laugh, drained the last bit off milk out of the glass in front of him and scooped up his magazines. “Whatever, Gee. Nice to meet you, Frank,” he said, still smiling a bit, before leaving the kitchen. 

Frank shifted and moved forward to one of the stools around the island, surreptitiously throwing a look around the room. “It’s, uhm. A nice kitchen.” he said, looking around and taking in the elaborately carved cupboards and the huge stove. 

Gerard made a vaguely agreeing noise and ducked into the fridge. “What can I get you?” 

“Oh. Uhm. Soda is fine, thanks.” Frank sat down on one of the stools and rested his hand on the island. Well, he thought, this is awkward. Why had he agreed to come in again? What you should have said, he told himself sternly, is that you should head home because it was getting late and your mom would be wondering where you were. Now look at the situation you've gotten yourself into. 

Yeah right, another voice replied, like she gives a flying fuck where you are now. She’s probably getting it on with boyfriend Ian. Frank shuddered inwardly. His mom getting it on with anyone wasn’t really a thing he wanted to think about. Ever. 

He was startled out of his thoughts when Gerard placed a glass in front of him. He smiled in return and followed Gerard into the living area part of the room, where he carefully sat down on a couch. There was a huge TV in one of the corners and three couches were set up around it. Looking around, he saw that all the wood in this room was elaborately carved as well. 

They sat around for a few seconds in an awkward silence. Well, Frank thought, it’s as good a conversation topic as any. And definitely better than the weather. 

“So, um. Is your house like this everywhere?” he asked, gesturing at the carved windowsill. At Gerard’s confused look, he clarified. “The carved wood? I noticed the stairway was all carved and shit as well and so are the kitchen cupboards and now here as well, so.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Gerard replied. He shrugged. “It’s pretty old. My parents are always on me and Mikey’s case about ‘taking care of the wood’, it’s pretty damn annoying.” He grinned, “They even had the decorations on our rooms removed, because we were, apparently, destroying them.” 

Frank snorted and took a gulp of his glass. “Were you?” 

“Well, yeah.” Gerard laughed. It was a genuine laugh, contagious even, and Frank found himself grinning back. 

“Are they home, your parents?” he asked, taking another sip. 

“Nah. They went out to one of those benefit things, I think? I don’t know.” For a moment Gerard looked a little ashamed of himself for admitting that he didn’t really know where his parents were. “I mean. Yeah. They’re pretty busy people and. Yeah.” 

“Hey, you don’t have to explain it to me, man.” Frank said. “My mom’s more worried about her liquor cabinet and her boyfriend than her son, so it’s. Yeah.” He waved his hand. 

Gerard nodded, and suddenly Frank felt sorry for bringing it up. He knew how painful a subject it actually was to talk about with friends, let alone with people you had only just made peace with. He let his eyes wander around the room, desperate for another subject to talk about to fill the awkward silence that had fallen again, when he noticed that the better part of the walls were covered with paintings. 

“Hey, did you pick out the paintings for the room?” 

Gerard smiled. “Yeah, something like that.” 

“Mind if I…?” Frank gestured around to the room to indicate walking around and Gerard blinked confusedly before shaking his head. 

“What? Oh, no dude, go ahead.” 

He put his glass on the coffee table and walked over to the wall opposite of him that was covered in portraits of people in various sizes. The one that had struck him was the one in the very middle, of a young girl. It was a side profile, but her face was turned towards the painter and she was laughing openly. 

“This is really a good portrait. This is going to sound so corny, but I can even see the twinkles in her eye.” He smiled and moved to the ones next to her. “Hey, wait. Is this- Is this your brother?” he asked incredulously. 

“Yeah.” Frank jumped as Gerard’s voice came from right behind him. “The girl in the middle is my grandmother. This is like, our family portrait wall.” 

Frank nods. “It’s kind of seriously awesome. Where’d you get these done?” 

“Uh,” Gerard said behind him. “I, er.” 

“What?” Frank said, turning around. Gerard was a few steps behind him and he appeared to be trying to hide behind his long hair and was he-- was he blushing? 

“I painted them?” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

“Oh!” Frank said. “Well. Um. Wow. Yeah, these are. Really good?” 

Gerard smiled and came out from behind his hair. “Thanks?” 

Frank happily returned the smile. “Hey, you’re welcome.” He turned back to the paintings and laughed. “Which one is you? Is it the creep over there that looks like Dracula?” 

Gerard laughed and shoved Frank in the shoulder. “Shut up, asshole,” he muttered, but there wasn’t any venom in it. “Just because we’ve agreed to try to get along for the sake of that goddamn assignment, doesn’t mean that I’m gonna take all your shit!” 

Frank’s brain went unfocused for a moment and something sparked behind his eyes. “Gerard!” he said urgently, “The assignment!” 

“…what about it?” Gerard replied. 

“This! Your art is fantastic! You could draw for our project!” he turned back to the paintings on the wall and started examining them. “These are kind of… realism but not, right? For some reason they remind me of comic books?” He swirled around and grinned widely at Gerard, “We could make a sort of comic of our scene!” 

“Uh, dude, Frank, wait up, okay?” Gerard replied, uncertainty obvious in the tone of his voice. “For one thing, I’m not too sure about how I feel about your whole idea; and secondly, even if I did agree, our scene is _far_ too short to write a comic on it?” 

“Shit,” Frank said, crossing the room and sitting back down on the couch heavily. “You’re right. I’m sorry I just assumed you’d be okay with it. Didn’t really think about it.” 

“It’s cool.” Gerard smiled. He was still standing by the portrait wall and had a contemplative expression on his face. “Though I suppose we could ask Cunshaw for a change in assignment? Maybe ask her if we could do something with a bigger part of the story?” 

Frank looked up hopefully. 

“Uhm, hypothetically, of course.” Gerard amended quickly. 

Frank nodded. “It’s cool, I get it, really." And he did. "There’ll be a shitload of people watching. It’s just, we could do so many things with it, you know? Rewrite it in a modern setting or do a horror version of it or something!” 

Gerard laughed. “A horror version of Romeo and Juliet? Let me guess, they are re-awakened as zombies?” 

Frank stuck out his tongue. “You know they’d be kickass zombies. They’ve got a shitload to revenge, either way! And you can never go wrong with horror!” 

Gerard nodded, “Now that is one thing I can to agree with. The other nonsense you just sprouted, though?” He grinned.

“Really?” Frank asked, ignoring Gerard's last remarks, and then amended, “though, I guess from what you draw, it’s actually pretty obvious. What do you like?” 

Gerard shrugged. “The obvious, you know? Romero. Hellraiser.” 

Frank nodded enthusiastically. “How do you feel about Halloween? The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?” 

“They’re okay, I guess.” Gerard said doubtfully, “But, I don't know, there’s no real… underlying meaning in them?” 

“What do you mean, no underlying meaning!” Frank exclaimed, “there’s plenty!” 

“No there’s not!” Gerard argues, “there’s, what, Leatherface was abused when he was a kid? Please.” 

Frank made a loud noise of disagreement and opened his mouth to serve Gerard with a reply, but Gerard continued before he could get a sound out. “No, I’m talking about, for example, the Romero movies? There you have the joy of zombies,” he grinned, “which you have to admit, is fucking awesome, but aside from that you also have the satire and the critique on society!” 

He jumped up from the couch and started pacing, waving his hands to illustrate his point. “Take _Night_ for example, that movie’s fucking laden with critiques on 60’s society. Or _Day_ where you can see the returning theme in pretty much all of the movies return the clearest, how that scientist, I forgot her name, is set up _against_ Rhodes, clear symbolism of man’s inability to work together even when faced with the goddamn apocalypse! It’s a bleak view on society, sure, but even now it’s still true! And then I haven’t even begun about _Dawn_ , where Romero goes out and explores the effects of a zombie epidemic on society. That’s what I’m talking about when I say ‘content’, Frank.” he grinned 

“Yeah, okay, you’re right about that to some extent. But there’s more to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre than you think!” Frank argued, “I mean, the exploration of Leatherface is pretty fucking fantastic as well.” 

“Humour me, then,” Gerard said, sitting back down in the couch and looking at Frank intently, “try, fucking _try_ to compete with Romero.” he smirked. 

“Dude, I’m not an idiot! Romero’s stuff is, like, legendary in the horror category! I’m just saying, Texas isn’t all about Leatherface being picked on!” 

“So what is it about? You keeping talking all fancy but I haven’t heard any actual analysis!” 

“Shut up,” Frank said, laughing a little, “and listen! The character Leatherface is pretty goddamn fascinating. How he has the three different faces, three different ways of how he wanted to be? Did you ever listen to the commentary? It’s all about how the facial masks are really a substitute for his identity because he himself isn’t anyone, or if he is, he’s too afraid to be it on his own! It’s like, there’s nothing behind the masks, he’s just empty and--” 

“Not that I’m not a hundred percent behind discussion of horror movies, could you possibly _not_ do it when it’s approaching 1 fucking AM? As much as I hate to say it, we’ve all got to haul our asses out for school tomorrow.” Mikey drawled from where he was standing near the door of the living room, looking at them both meaningfully. 

“Shit. Is it really that late already?” Frank swore, “I should go home.” 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll show you out.” Gerard said, leading the way back through the kitchen and out into the hallway. “Don’t forget your jacket.” 

“Not much change, dude,” Frank grinned, taking it from Gerard and shrugging it on, “I think if I went out jacket-less right now, my skin’d be blue in 0.7 seconds.” 

Gerard grinned and made to open the front door. 

“Jesus, is every single piece of wood carved in your whole house?” Frank asked incredulously, taking in the intricate designs on the inside of the front door. 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Gerard grinned. “Now get out, or you’ll fall asleep in Mr. Fraser’s history class tomorrow.” 

Frank stuck out his tongue and stepped out onto the front porch, fishing his car keys out of his pocket. “You just want to get rid of me.” 

“Well, yeah.” Gerard smirked, “who’d want someone in his house who’s gone and analyzed the psyche of fucking _Leatherface_ in depth? Fucking crazy dude that’s gotta be.” 

Frank laughed. “You’re okay, Gerard Way. Well, aside from your opinions on zombie movies.” 

Gerard smirked. “Bonus for rhyming, Iero. Now get the fuck off of my porch.” 

“I’m going, I’m going! So you’ll think about it, yeah. The drawings for our Zombie Project?” 

“Yes, yes, I’ll think about it.” 

“Awesome! See you around!” Frank bounded off towards his car, grin stuck to his face.


	3. Chapter 3

“And then,” Gerard said, his voice uneven and high pitched with constricted laughter, “And then she offered to blow _him_! Like, ‘I won’t tell if you won’t, sir.’ And she looked at him with this pout that she meant to seem sexy. I mean, granted, the girl had things going for her, but come on! Mr. Foster was, like, 70! And you should have seen his face!” 

Gerard’s face contorted in a hideous expression of mixed horror and desperation, and Frank dissolved into giggles. 

“I always thought,” he laughed, gasping for breath, “I always thought Stacie got kicked out for being caught blowing her boyfriend, not for propositioning a teacher!” He thunked his head on the table and stuffed his fist into his mouth to stop his giggles from bubbling out of his mouth. Next to him he could see Gerard doing the same thing. They were perched on their chairs in the library, swapping stories until Mrs. Cunshaw came to see them like she’d promised she would. 

“Okay,” he said, “Okay. I can do this.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “I can sit here and not burst into laughter every other fucking second thinking about Stacie Blackington propositioning Mr. Foster.” He clapped his hands over his mouth again and forced himself to look at the table and only at the table to calm down. Out of his peripheral vision he could see Gerard’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter as well. 

“Boys.” Mrs. Cunshaw's voice suddenly sounded to his right and Frank’s head shot up, desperately trying to keep a straight face. “How are you two getting on?” she beamed. 

“Quite well, ma’am.” Gerard said to Frank’s left and out of the corner of his eye Frank could see Gerard’s face was smiling appropriately. 

“And you haven’t tried to get out of this, have you?” she looked at them in turn, a shine of disapproval in her eyes. Frank averted his eyes and opened his mouth, but Gerard kicked him in the shin and he jumped and tried to glare covertly at Gerard. 

“No, ma’am.” Gerard smiled sweetly, blandly ignoring Frank and keeping his eyes fixed on Mrs. Cunshaw. "We've both been here every Tuesday and Thursday."

“Good! Good!” she beamed at them. “Now, why is it you asked for me to come?” 

“Well,” Gerard started, still smiling innocently, “We were actually wondering about two things, actually. You see, we’ve got this _really_ good idea for our project, but the problem is, our scene doesn’t have enough content?” 

Mrs. Cunshaw looked confused. “What scene did you boys draw then?” 

“Well, the scene were Romeo and Juliet get married.” Frank clarified. “But, the only thing that really happens is that Romeo and the Friar discuss the marriage and then Juliet arrives and then the scene is done. Which is far too short for what we had planned. We were wondering if you could maybe let us use the story as a whole, rather than limit us to one scene?” 

Mrs. Cunshaw smiled widely again. “Well, I am intrigued, dearies. What is this ingenious idea you were planning?” 

At this point Gerard cut in. “Well,” he hesitated, “do you remember how you said that we could use all mediums we wanted?” Mrs. Cunshaw nodded and Gerard continued, “Well, we were thinking of incorporating some visual mediums as well.” He bit his lip, “we could explain in detail, ma’am, but that would ruin the surprise a bit, I think?” he turned his wide eyes to her, “but we can tell you if you really want to know.” 

“Oh no, no, that’s okay!” she smiled widely, “I am happy you’ve gotten so invested in this project, dearies! I will discuss it with Principal Ellis, but I’m sure it will be all right. Now what was that other question you had?” 

“Well,” Gerard starting, his face innocent again, “The idea would involve some work that we can’t do in the library without disturbing the other people here.” 

Frank threw an inconspicuous glance around the room. The library was practically empty, as it had been every time they’d been here. He suppressed a snort. Disturbing other people, yeah right, he thought, inwardly laughing. 

“Plus,” Gerard continued, “We said we’re thinking of using some visual things, but we can’t really make them here, because we’d get the library all messy.” 

Mrs. Cunshaw nodded. 

“And we’ve really started to get along, ma’am,” Frank cut in, “we’re friends now, we would never fight again.” He pulled the most innocent face he could come up with, “so we were wondering if you could maybe let us work from home?” 

Mrs. Cunshaw looked at them in turn. “You understand, dearies, that making the two of you work here was a necessary precaution?” they nodded, “and that if we let you off now, it would mean that we do not believe in pupils finishing their punishment.” 

Frank’s face fell, but Gerard gave him another kick in the ankles and he forced it into a pleading expression again. 

“We really do understand that, ma’am, but we want to make sure this assignment is the best we can make of it, and we can’t do that in here.” Gerard’s face was pleading as well, his eyes wide. Frank had to force himself to look away, knowing that he’d start laughing if he kept on looking at Gerard’s ridiculous expression. A glance at Mrs. Cunshaw indicated that she seemed to be buying it though, and that was all he wanted. 

“We’ll behave, we promise!” Gerard added, “You can even call one of our parents to get them to supervise for the first few times, see if we behave. Like, a trial period?” 

Frank could see she was wavering and widened his eyes, pasting on his most pleading expression. “ _Please_ , Mrs. Cunshaw?” 

She sighed and smiled and Frank had to bite back a grin. He knew they’d won. 

“Oh very well, dearies!” she wagged her finger at them, “but, I’ll be calling your father, Mr. Way, to see if the two of you behave!” 

Gerard nodded, still smiling angelically, before gathering up their books and notes, stuffing them in his bag and pulling along a dazed Frank. 

“Thank you _so_ much, Mrs. Cunshaw.” He gushed, “You won’t regret it, I swear. _We_ swear, right Frank? 

“What? Oh! Oh, yes! Swear.” Frank nodded dutifully. 

She was still beaming at them when Gerard closed the door of the library behind them, tugged Frank outside the front entrance of the school and promptly collapsed into giggles on the front lawn. 

“Oh god.” He gasped, “did you _see_ her face?” 

Frank pulled a face and poked Gerard with his foot. “She’s gonna call your dad, dude.” 

Gerard was sitting in the grass, cross-legged and looking up and Frank, shoulders still shaking with mirth. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and then pushed himself up. “Oh, Frank, stop being such a negative thinker, I’m the brooding artist here, remember? Besides, the cell number I gave up as my dad’s is my own. So, I’ll just lower my voice and no one will be the wiser.” He smirked and Frank felt himself grinning. 

“You sneaky little bastard!” he laughed, “I didn’t know you had it in you!” he poked Gerard in the sides, “Thanks for covering for me the other day, by the way.” 

Gerard shrugged. “It’s cool. Can’t really blame you for wanting to walk out on me, I was a complete asshole, so.” He smiled, “we’re okay. So, now that we’re off the hook, your place or mine?” 

Frank grimaced. “Your place? Mom’s got her new boyfriend over so…” he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. 

“Okay, that’s cool.” Gerard said, tugging him in the direction of his car. “C’mon, I’ve got Iron Maiden in the car.” 

+++ 

“So, you’ll do it then?” Frank asked hopefully, perching once again on one of the island stools in the Way kitchen. He was munching on a cookie and there was a glass of soda in front of him. 

“Hmmpfhf-what?” Gerard said, retracting his head from where he’d stuck it in one of the cabinets. There was a fluff of dust stuck to his right ear and quite a lot in his hair, and Frank fruitlessly tried to suppress a giggle. 

“Uhm, you’ve got a little--Yeah,” he laughed as Gerard plucked the fluff off of his ear and glared at it, before tossing it on the floor. 

“Sorry, did you say something?” 

“Uh, yes, I did. I asked you if you’ll do it, then?” he repeated his question, “And by ‘it’ I mean, the drawings for our proj-- okay, what the _hell_ are you doing in that cabinet?” he asked incredulously, when Gerard shoved his arm back in and started groping around. 

“I’m just-- I hid a packet of smokes in here from my parents but I can’t find it.” Gerard grumbled, pulling a face. “Never mind me, you were saying?” 

Frank laughed and stuck out his tongue out at Gerard. “You heard perfectly well what I was saying, asshole.” He takes a sip of his drink, “I asked you if this meant you’d do the drawings for your project.” 

“Uh.” Gerard shrugged, or as good as one could shrug when one’s arm was rooting around in a cupboard. “Aha!” he exclaimed, grinning, “Found ‘em!” he pulled his arm out of the cupboard and revealed a dusty packet of Marlboro Reds. “I’ll never understand how dust actually gets _inside_ the cabinet.” Gerard said thoughtfully, jumping off the counter and holding the packet out to Frank. “Want one?” 

“Okay, firstly,” Frank said, “stop changing the fucking subject; and second, won’t your parents smell the smoke and flip?” 

Gerard rolled his eyes. “Obviously we smoke outside, Frank.” 

Frank hopped off the stool and held out his hand. “In that case, yes please.” 

Gerard grinned. “Always so polite, I like that in a boy.” 

Frank flipped him off and slid a cigarette out of the open box. “Lead the way then, Master Way.” He smirked, and followed Gerard out of the back door in the kitchen, out on to the back porch. 

He lit his cigarette and waited. 

“I’ll do it.” Gerard eventually said. “But we have to start thinking about what we’re gonna do with the storyline and we’ll have to find something specific for you to do or you know Cunshaw will be bitching about how I did all the work with the drawings and you slacked off.” 

Frank took a drag, “Actually, I’ve been thinking bout that. I was thinking that maybe you could draw the story, and I could tell the story? And maybe, play some music along with it.” He blew out the smoke, “I’m by no means a composer, but I can come up with some tunes to go along with a story.” 

Gerard nodded. “Okay, that's an idea. And, say we use the whole story, what do we make of it? I mean,” he took a drag from his smoke, “do we go for the cheesy and obvious adaptation-to-current-time, or are we gonna try to come up with something more original?” 

“You mean, like, zombies?” 

“Fuck you,” Gerard chortled, “I was being serious!” 

“So was I!” Frank replied, indignantly. 

“We are not doing zombies.” Gerard said, amused. 

“Pfft, whatever. Do you have a better idea, then?” 

“No, I don't. But there's still plenty of time to think about it. We’ve got two months till this thing has to be handed in, so.” He took a final drag and the flipped the bud of the cigarette in an iron bucket that was standing on the edge of the porch. 

Frank remained silent for a while, instead opting to look over the huge garden of the Ways in the falling dusk. He was just tossing the remnants of his own cigarette in the bucket when Gerard started talking again. 

“Does it bother you that your mom’s got a boyfriend?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. 

Frank started. “That’s none of your business!” he snapped, but amended with a sheepish look at Gerard’s raised eyebrow. “Sorry,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting that.” He pondered the question for a moment. “No. No, what bothers me isn’t the fact that she _has_ a boyfriend, but how she acts when he’s around.” 

He sat down on the wooden steps and pulled up his knees. “He’s got a son, you see. And he is, according to her anyway, the world’s best father. So, naturally, she should be world’s best mother. But it doesn’t work when she only tries it when he’s around or going to be around. She’s never cared enough to do it for me so it pisses me off that she does it for him. It's like he's worth more effort than I am.” He sighed and rested his head on his knees, looking at Gerard who’d come to sit next to him. It was hard to make him out in the rapidly darkening gloom, but he could see the contours. 

“What about you?” Frank asked. 

“What about me?” 

“Does it bother you that your parents are barely home?” 

Gerard shrugged. “It’s strange,” he said after a silence, “I remember when I was little they were around all the time. They'd take me and Mikey to the Zoo and to the mall and to everywhere we wanted to go, pretty much? And it’s like as soon as we were ‘old enough’, ergo in junior high, they decided that leaving money was a good enough substitute for themselves.” He shrugged again, “My family owns a chain of art galleries and they’re always on business trips or wooing new clients or going to parties and galas' and grand openings, or….” He trailed off, his fingers chipping the wood of the steps and his voice soft. “You get used to it.” 

“Yeah,” Frank agreed quietly, “you do.”

"There's this spot up near the old mill I like to go? When I've had enough of their attitude, or when it pisses me off. It's nice there, all calm and peaceful. Nice to go up there and just think." He smiled at Frank and Frank could feel the corners of his mouth curving up, returning it.

They sat on the porch in companionable silence until Mikey called them inside for ‘dinner, motherfuckers!’.

+++ 

It was pitch-dark in Frank’s room when he was jolted awake later that night, panting and painfully hard. His sleep-fuzzy brain couldn’t exactly remember the details of the dream, but he recalled flashes of pale skin and curves when he tried to think of the details. 

His hand travelled down his chest and a lazy smile crept up his face. His fingers curled around his cock and a tiny gasp escaped him. He concentrated on the feeling of the dream and he could feel his cock throbbing a bit. There had been a bare room, where he’d been tied to the bed. 

His thumb was now travelling lazy circles around the head of his cock, and his breath coming in pants, occasionally moaning softly. He remembered the feeling of silk around his wrists, the intimacy of surrendering to whomever had tied him up there, the scratches of the blindfold over his eyes. 

He groaned as he recalled nimble fingers working their way down his chest and flicking his nipples, fondling his sac. He dragged his palm over the head of his cock and then worked his way down again, spreading out the pre-come as a makeshift lube. 

He remembered the smell of leather, and the way it dragged over his skin, and hot breath on the inside of his thigh. He sped up the tempo of his tugs and groaned again when he felt pangs of desire uncurl themselves low in his stomach. 

He could practically feel the silky touch of gloves on his dick, followed by a warm wet mouth. He lifted his hips off of the bed, speeding his strokes up even more, unable to keep from uttering a breathless moan, his actions mirroring what he remembered doing in his dream. He could feel his orgasm coming, tingling and sparking at the end of his spine. 

He remembered moaning in his dream, begging for the blindfold to be taken off. He remembered the gasp of anticipation upon feeling nimble fingers undoing his blindfold and a vaguely familiar whisper in his ear, telling him to keep his eyes closed. 

He tightened his grip on his cock and he could feel the first waves of his orgasm hit him, just as he remembered opening his eyes and seeing a dark head bending over his groin and a small, masculine mouth curled around his cock. He let out a loud groan when the wave of pleasure hit him, his head thrown back and his mouth wide. 

It took a few minutes got his brain to start functioning again, and then another few before he got up to grab a couple of tissues from the box on his desk to clean himself up.

It was only when he was padding back to his bed, looking forward to curling up there happily in the afterglow when it hit him. 

Small, masculine mouth. Small _masculine_ mouth. There was a haze of something suspiciously resembling panic in the back of his brain as he put the pieces of the dream-puzzle back together. Black hair, masculine mouth, a familiar whisper. 

Unwillingly green-brown eyes and a scent of cigarettes and a musty old house came to mind. A full laugh and crinkles around glinting eyes. The smell of oil paint and charcoal. 

Well, Frank thought. Shit. 

It wasn’t that he was freaking out about the fact that he, apparently, had a dream where he was not only having kinky sex with a dude, but that said dude was one of his friends. He definitely wasn’t, he was sure of that. The Health Ed class he’d taken last year had been very clear about that, experimenting was all part of the business, it was completely normal to- 

Fuck it, he was totally freaking out. He paced back and forth through the small confines of his room absentmindedly biting his fingernails.

So he had a kinky sex dream? No big, right? It’s not like people don’t have kinky sex dreams all the time. Hell, it wasn’t like _he_ didn’t have kinky dreams all the fucking time. 

No, the problem was that in said kinky sex dream, he’d been with some guy. No, he corrected himself, not some guy. Gerard fucking Way. 

He could feel that haze of panic creeping up again, but he decidedly squashed it. He was going to reason about this, be reasonable and--

A flash of pale skin and the feeling of quick fingers on his nipples flickered in his brain and he could feel himself get hard again. 

Well, Frank thought. Shit. 

+++ 

The next few weeks passed by without incident. They went to school, Frank hung out with Bob and Ray at lunch, and generally passed the time after school over at Gerard’s place, working on their project. They were mostly done with writing the storyline and the afternoons and evenings were spent either tweaking that or Frank coming up with music and Gerard sketching out preliminary images. 

More often than not Frank stayed over for dinner, which was usually take-out (barring the rare times Mr. and Mrs. Way were home, but mostly it was just Gerard, Mikey and him. He saw their parents sometimes, when they came home from trips to shower and nap, or to change clothes. But most of the time they came home after Frank had already left and according to Mikey they were gone even before him and Gerard left for school), and just as often he stayed in the Way residence well into the evening. 

And when he came home, he continued to have dreams of the adult-rated variety. About Gerard. It had taken him three nights to forget about the self-instated ‘no conscious wanking about Gerard’-rule, but really, he’d woken up with his hand already on his cock and he _really_ hadn’t had the presence of mind to quit then. 

Not that he particularly liked the dreams. They were stressing him out and springing up at him at the most inconvenient times and places. Like he really wanted to spend an entire lunch wishing away his hard-on because Tiffany-from-English-Lit mentioned something about leather wrist cuffs which, in Frank’s mind, lead to leather tying him up to the bed, which, yeah. Or like it was pleasurable to zone out completely during a scenario discussion with Gerard, his eyes fixed on Gerard’s lips and the things those lips had already done in his dreams. 

And that didn’t even begin to cover that time when he’d stayed at Gerard’s place until 1 AM and had far too much wine at and after dinner to still drive himself home so he’d called his mom (left a voicemail because she hadn’t been home, surprise surprise) and stayed over. 

He’d been a little intimidated by the ‘guest wing’ (which was really only a hallway with a couple guest rooms, but still rather far away from where Gerard and Mikey were sleeping and sometimes this house creeped him the fuck _out_.) and far too drunk to think about the embarrassment factor in it, so he’d asked Gerard if he could stay in Gerard’s room. Wasn’t like he didn’t have enough room anyway.

(He remembered the first time he’d been in Gerard’s room. It was was fucking _huge_ , had been his first thought. There were large windows, with a few lounge chairs and couches arranged around them. Against the right wall, there was a huge bed, covered in dark blue sheets and there was a plush rug covering the entire floor. He’d wondered what the ‘master bedroom’ was like, when Gerard had commented that some rooms in the house were bigger still. What, were they the size on the entire fucking ground-floor of his house?) 

So Gerard had set up some form of cot for him, and he’d crashed on it. And had, of course, continued to have the single worst (or best, depending on how you felt about sex toys) dream so far. He’d woken up to with his cock tenting his pants, though thankfully not the layers of blankets Gerard had piled on before, a wet spot on his pants and Gerard’s hand shaking his shoulder and asking about his ‘nightmare’. 

He’d flushed completely fucking crimson, because seriously, how awkward could a situation get. And it wasn’t like having Gerard in such close proximity had really helped matters. 

It wasn’t that he _hated_ the dreams, they were just awkward and kind of really hot and they were _really_ starting to affect the way he behaved around Gerard. 

He just hoped Gerard or Mikey hadn’t noticed. 

+++ 

“You’re aware that Frank’s been acting fucking weird, right?” Mikey said casually one Tuesday night, while they were doing the dishes. Frank had been awkward and jumpy all evening, and he’d fled pretty much the moment dinner had been done. 

Gerard pulled a face and set away the plate he had just dried off. “Yeah. I noticed.” 

“So, what’s the deal?” 

Gerard shrugged. “How the hell am I supposed to know?” 

“Well, he’s _your_ friend,” Mikey said, sticking his hands and arms in the foamy water again, groping around. 

Gerard shrugged again. “I don’t know.” He paused, picking up another plate. “Remind me why we're doing the dishes again? Didn’t you say you called someone to fix our fucking dishwasher?” 

“I did. But the asshole wouldn’t _’deal with fucking teenagers, so get your parents to give us a call’_ ” he scowled, “I told Dad about it, but I figure we’ll have to remind him another couple of dozens times before he actually remembers to do it.” 

Gerard rolled his eyes and grabbed a glass. 

“So, about Frank-” 

“We weren’t talking about Frank, we were talking about fucking plumbers.” Gerard cut his brother off. “There’s nothing to say about Frank. Nothing. Zip. Nada.” 

Mikey shot him a look. “Really.” A pause. “Does he know you fancy him?” 

Gerard dropped the glass he was holding. 

“Jesus _fuck_ , Mikey!” he cursed, crouching down to pick up the shards on the floor. 

Mikey was leaning against the counter with his hip and had his arms crossed. “Well, does he?” 

Gerard glared at him while getting up. “One: I don’t ‘fancy’ him, and two: who the fuck uses words like that anyway? What, are you suddenly channelling Grandad’s spirit?” He rooted around in the cabinet under the sink for a dustpan and a sweeper, ignoring Mikey’s raised eyebrow. 

“He doesn’t even know I’m gay, okay?” Gerard eventually gritted out. “It’s not something you easily slip into conversation.” He got back up and tossed the shards in the trashcan. “And I don’t fancy him.” He added petulantly. 

“Whatever, dude,” Mikey smirked infuriatingly, and Gerard resisted the urge to scoop up some foam from the sink and toss it at him. 

“He invited me to that bar they go to sometimes.” Gerard said after they’d finished the dishes and cleaned up the rest of the kitchen. He sat down on one of the stools. “Y’know, Alicia’s?” 

Mikey nodded. “I’ve been there. It’s cool. You gonna go?” 

Gerard shrugged. “I don’t know. He made it seem so easy, you know? Like ‘Hey, we’re going to Alicia’s on Saturday, you should come with.’ As if it’ll be that easy to just fit in with his kind of crowd.” 

Mikey shrugged. “You’ll never know if you don’t go,” he commented. 

+++ 

That Friday, Frank plopped down on the Wall next to Bob. “Hey guys,” he said, grinning and fishing his lunch out of his backpack. “’sup?” 

“Hey, man.” Ray replied, waving from where he was sitting next to Chelsea. Frank smiled, and then frowned when he saw Bob’s unimpressed look. 

“What? What is it?” he asked. “Is there something on my shirt or what?” he laughed. He hadn’t ever seen this look on Bob before, at least not directed at him, and it was making him a bit uncomfortable. 

Bob shook his head. “I’m just surprised you deemed us worthy of your presence, is all.” 

Frank stared at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, sceptically. 

Bob shrugged. “We barely ever see you around anymore, Frank. You’re always hanging around with Way.” He took a bite from his sandwich. “People are starting to talk.” 

“What?” Frank goggled, “I can’t-- What the fuck, Bob?” 

Bob put his sandwich down and glared at him. “Look, Frank. I don’t know what the fuck happened, because one moment we all hate that arrogant prick, and next the two of you are, like, best buddies or whatever. You may think we’re not good enough to be your friends--” Frank spluttered at this, “--but I figure I should at least tell you that people are starting to call you a faggot behind your back.” 

“The fuck is this shit, man?” Frank said incredulously, “Seriously. Toro!” he called and Ray looked up and looked at him. “Are you-- what’s going on, guys?” 

Ray shrugged. “You’re _never_ around anymore, Frank, what the hell are we supposed to think?” Frank blinked and Ray continued, “I mean, when was the last time you even had lunch with us here?” 

“I ate here with you, like, last w-” Frank trailed off and racked his brain. They were right. He’d been having lunch with Gerard in the art class room for the whole week and a part of the week before. He hadn’t even, shit, he hadn’t even told the guys that he wasn’t going to have lunch with them. Fuck. 

“Shit, guys, I’m sorry.” He said, looking sheepish, “I swear it’s not like that at all. It’s just, we have that project, you know?” he took a breath, “And Gerard’s really not all that bad, y’know.” He said carefully. 

Ray raised an eyebrow and Bob scoffed. “For fuck’s sake, Frank, the guy’s a complete asshole. And arrogant to boot!” 

Frank glared, anger flaring up. “How the fuck would you know?” he snapped, “You’ve never spent more than five minutes around him!” 

“Because I don’t _have_ to, Frank! Jesus, I only need half a minute to know that the guy is so obviously _not_ worth our attention!” 

Frank rose. “Jesus, Bryar, when did you turn into such a snob? ‘Not worth our attention’? The fuck, man, listen to yourself.” 

Bob jumped up as well and he was scowling, the expression on his face thunderous, when Ray stepped in between them. “Okay, guys, calm the fuck down.” He said evenly. “Sit.” 

Frank sat, and after a moment’s hesitation and a glare from Ray, so did Bob.

“What Bob means, Frank,” Ray said evenly, “is that we’re just worried. People _are_ starting to talk, saying the kind of stuff that can seriously damage your reputation and, as your friends, we’re just warning you about that. 

He turned to Bob. “And what Frank means,” he said, shooting Frank a strong look, “is that he’s sorry and he didn’t mean to ditch us and just got caught up in the project. Plus,” Ray shrugged at Bob, “you know Frank, dude, it’s not all that surprising he’s built up a Way Toleration Factor.” He turned his gaze to Frank again. “Right, Frank?” 

“Yeah, sure.” Frank mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on the floor, ignoring the anger that still occasionally flared up at Bob’s words. They were his friends and he wouldn’t press the issue and start another fight. 

Besides, Bob would come around. He was sure of it. 

+++ 

Bob didn’t come around though, and on Saturday evening the mood was tense. There was a punk band playing that they were all into and they’d agreed to go ages ago. He was sitting on a couch in between Chelsea and Ray, and Bob was on Ray’s other side. They hadn’t said much all evening, and Frank could tell Ray was getting fed up with it. Hell, _he_ was getting fucking fed up with it. 

“Fuck this, I’m gonna go a bit closer.” He said, getting up and heading towards the stage the band was playing on. 

It was almost like a repeating of history when a hand grabbed onto his arm. “Hello Frank,” Jamia said sweetly. 

Fuck, Frank thought viciously. 

\- 

It was late when Gerard pulled up to the bar. He really hadn’t intended on going, despite Frank’s invitation, but then it had been 2:30am and he’d been bored and his cell phone had rung and Frank had been cheery and really fucking insistent he came over, because “Pish, who the fuck cares the band is already done, Gerarrrrd, please come over Gerarrrd, pleeeease?” 

Frank could fucking _whine_ when he was drunk, Gerard thought. He shoved his wallet in his back pocket and got out of the car, sliding his phone and car keys in the pockets of his jeans. There was a bouncer at the door, but he barely looked up when he waved Gerard through. 

The typical bar smell of booze and cigarettes hit him when he pushed the door open and stepped in awkwardly. The bar was pretty crowded, he thought, taking in the black interior and the chrome of the bar. There were, unfortunately, plenty of people around that recognized him, but he slipped on his bitch-face and hid his awkwardness as he went in the direction of the bar to get himself a drink. 

He was just knocking back his second shot of whiskey when a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders and his name was squealed in his ear. 

“Geraaaaaard!” Frank giggled, “You caaaaame!” He planted a wet kiss on Gerard’s cheek and then pulled back to shoot him a blinding grin. 

Gerard coughed and spluttered a bit and then laughed softly, unwinding Frank’s arms from his neck. “I did. And you’re drunk.” 

Frank stuck out his tongue petulantly. “Am no-Whoa!” Gerard’s arm shot out and grabbed Franks elbow to steady him. 

“Are you sure about that?” Gerard whispered in Frank’s ear and Frank just giggled. He turned back to the bar. 

“Aliciaaaaa! Can I have another drink!” he beamed at her when she came up to them. 

“Jesus, Frank, I’d forgotten how much you whine when you’re drunk,” she smirked, “Two of the usual?” 

Frank nodded happily and then turned around to Gerard again, winding his arms around the other boy's neck and brushing his lips close to Gerard’s ear. “I’m _really_ glad you came, Gerard.” He said earnestly and Gerard smiled at Frank’s ridiculously wide eyes and genuine expression. 

“I’m glad I came too, Frank.” He said, nodding his thanks at Alicia and shooting back his drink. 

He coughed and spluttered a bit as the sharp sting of the alcohol hit his throat. “Fuck, what is this shit?” 

Frank giggled and latched onto Gerard’s hand. “Tequila!” he said over his shoulder, dragging Gerard through the crowd. “Alicia’s best!” 

“I’m sure,” Gerard muttered and then continued in a louder voice, “Where are we going?” 

“Oh, I’m taking you to my friends,” Frank said happily, and Gerard jolted. 

“Frank,” he said urgently, “Frank, I’m not sure that’s such a--” he trailed off when Frank gave his arm another strong tug and he ended up on a platform filled with Frank’s friends. “--good idea.” He finished quietly, only to himself. 

He was just about to take off again, not feeling very comfortable with the large amount of glares and dirty looks that were being shot his way; when Frank started talking, all the pleasantries from before gone. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” he glared at a lithe dark haired girl sitting next to Chelsea. 

“Well,” the girl replied, “I wanted to talk to you; and you bitched me off so quickly before I thought I’d wait here till you got back.” She smiled sweetly, but with an edge that made the hairs on the back of Gerard's neck stand up. 

“Though,” she continued, “It looks like you’re a little bit busy.” She grinned viciously, shooting a look at their hands that were still linked from Frank dragging Gerard through the crowd earlier. 

Gerard could feel himself flush and made to draw his hand away from Frank’s, but Frank set a calculating gaze on Jamia and then smirked. “I am, actually. I guess you’ll have to wait!” he said loudly, “Because we are going to dance!” and with that he dragged a still-embarrassed Gerard back into the crowd and out to the dance floor, completely ignoring all the looks being shot their way. 

Gerard let himself be dragged for a bit and then tugged on Frank’s arm until the other boy relented and turned around. “What?” he asked, partially happy and partially disgruntled. 

Gerard resisted the urge to roll his eyes and idly wondered how Frank managed to get two so different emotions in one tone of voice, and yet _not_ sound like an emotional retard. 

“There seems to be a little snatch in your plan, dude.” 

“What? Where!” Frank exclaimed, his eyes wide. Gerard suppressed a laugh and then bent over to whisper in Frank’s ear. 

“I don’t dance.” 

He knew it was a bad idea to brush his lips over the shell of Frank’s ear, he knew Frank’s friends would be watching them and probably be ready to kick his ass three ways from Sunday, but he couldn't help it. He'd only had three shots, but he could feel a pleasant buzzing in his blood and all the earlier discomfort about being around Frank’s friends had completely evaporated. 

Frank pulled back and looked at Gerard with ridiculous doe eyes. His lower lip was stuck out and almost trembling, his eyes round and innocent. All in all, he looked a lot like a little kid who was trying (and succeeding) to get his mom to buy him candy in the grocery store.

“Please?” he pouted, looking at Gerard with a pleading face. The music in the bar changed into something slow and sensual and Gerard let himself be drawn forward helplessly, unable to refuse Frank. The crowd around them pressed and jostled and pretty soon they were standing way too close for Gerard’s comfort, their chests barely separated. Frank grinned at him and then placed their still linked hands on Gerard’s hips, swaying to the beat of the song. Gerard stuttered a bit when Frank stepped even closer and pressed their chests together. 

“Relax,” he murmured in Gerard’s ear, but Gerard couldn’t relax. Frank was too close and too near, and already he could feel his cock getting hard. He tried to draw a back a bit but all around them people were rocking and grinding to the beat of the music. He looked around with a slightly panicked expression, but no hasty escape route was in sight.

“Geraaaard,” Frank murmured in his ear again, tightening his hands on Gerard’s hip. “Relax.” 

Later on, Gerard would blame a multitude of factors that really had nothing to do with himself, the alcohol he’d had, the people around him, the mood on the dance floor. But whatever the reason was, slowly he started to unwind and move on the rhythm pounding through his chest. 

Frank’s eyes flared in triumph and then he too started dancing in earnest. Gerard smiled at him and slowly, tentatively moved his own hand from where it had been resting by his side to Frank’s hips. At the first touch of Gerard fingers on the skin where his shirt had ridden up, Frank immediately felt the effects-- a warm flush travelled through his body and his breathing sped up, his mouth was suddenly dry and sparks shooting from every nerve ending that was connected with Gerard’s hand. Unconsciously, his hand tightened and then trailed away from Gerard’s hip to rest at the small of his back, closing the small space between them even further until there was nothing but a hairsbreadth of space between them. 

Gerard gasped a little at the contact of Frank’s hand partially on the bare skin of his back, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips, his eyes now fixed on Frank's. 

They were moving in sync now, completely entranced in one another, oblivious to everyone else on the dance floor, their hips narrowly missing each other with each movement. Frank’s fingers were stroking Gerard’s back to the rhythm of the music and Gerard panted a little at the sensation. 

Finally Frank couldn’t take it anymore and he pressed his hand down on Gerard’s lower back until their hips and chests met. Frank smiled as Gerard involuntarily let out a little gasp and then boldly bent over as if to whisper something in Gerard’s ear again, but instead trailing his lips over Gerard’s jaw. 

A flash of panic shot through Gerard’s foggy mind and for a moment he struggled to pull away, but then Frank aligned their hips and he could feel Frank’s tongue flitting out at the same time he felt the pressure Frank’s half-hard cock against his thigh and all coherent thought left his brain. 

Frank’s lips curved into a grin when he felt Gerard loosen up again and he trailed his lips upwards to the shell of Gerard’s ear, flitting out to the earlobe before whispering in his ear. 

“Follow me.” He murmured huskily, releasing his hold on Gerard’s back to grab his hand and once more tugging Gerard through the crowd to a shadowed back corner of the bar. Once there, he turned around and pressed Gerard up against the wall. “Now,” he murmured, “where were we?” 

Gerard bit his lip to suppress a small gasp at the sudden increased contact and Frank giggled, before latching his lips on Gerard’s jaw again, trailing down to his neck. Gerard was almost panting now, his eyes half-lidded and his brain overwhelmed by the multitude of sensations Frank’s actions were causing. 

And then, suddenly Frank’s mouth was gone and when Gerard opened his eyes he could see Frank’s face right in front of his own, his eyes dark and focused. 

“Frank,” he croaked out, attempting to sound calm and even, but sounding utterly wanton instead. Frank cracked a smile and then swooped down and covered Gerard’s mouth with his, pressing their bodies flush against each other, prompting another soft moan from Gerard. 

The music was still pounding, the beat still working through them and Frank groaned when Gerard nipped on his lower lip and then sucked. Gerard was rock hard by now, his hands tangled in Frank’s hair and desperately pressing against Frank’s thigh that had slipped between his legs. 

He arched his back a little and let out a gasp at the friction it provided. Frank grinned and flexed the muscles of his thighs, while moving his mouth to trace the shell of Gerard’s ear and suck on his earlobe. 

“You like that?” he murmured. “Feel good?” 

Gerard threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut when Frank’s hands travelled downward from his hips and cupped his ass, pressing him even closer. He bit his lip again to keep from moaning aloud, but Frank laughed softly. 

“I’ll get you to make noise,” he whispered, “I’ll get you to moan and groan. Let it go, no one can hear you anyway.” Gerard could feel his grin against his jaw and he yanked Frank’s head to him and pressed his open mouth to Frank’s swollen lips. 

Frank groaned himself at the bruising kiss, but he kissed back with everything he had, standing on the tips of his toes and pressing Gerard against the wall with his entire body. He gasped when their mouths finally separated and then smirked. “I’ll make you _scream_ ,” he murmured.

Gerard’s hand shot out and slammed against the wall behind him as Frank shoved his hand down Gerard’s pants and curled his hand around Gerard’s cock. He started up a steady rhythm, his other hand on the wall for support and his mouth alternating between Gerard’s neck and mouth. 

“Come on, Gerard,” he hummed, his fingers repeatedly sliding over the head of Gerard’s cock. Gerard whimpered in return and slammed his head back against the wall. He could already feel the beginnings of his orgasm tingling up his spine, he felt like he’d been hard for most of the night, he knew he wasn’t going to last very long, especially if Frank kept murmuring dirty things in his ear. 

“Scream for me, Gerard,” Frank breathed, and then bit down on Gerard earlobe. Gerard’s mouth opened in a long, guttural moan that mixed with the beats and music around them, and spilled himself over Frank’s hand, before slumping down, out of breath.


	4. Chapter 4

Frank’s head was pounding. His mouth felt like someone had poured sawdust in it, and his eyes were gritty. He knew the second he opened his eyes that it was a really bad idea, since the room he was in was flooded with light. 

...the room he was in. Frank shot up, and immediately groaned when he felt his stomach heaving. 

“Sleeping beauty’s awake!” someone chirruped to his left. 

He recognized that voice, he knew that voi- 

Ray? 

“Turn off the fucking sun, Toro,” he growled, settling himself up again and trying to keep the bile down. The light in the room dimmed and he opened his eyes a little bit to see he was on a bed in Ray’s room. “The fuck am I doing here?” he croaked. 

Ray grinned at him. “I’d forgotten what a bitch you are when you’re hungover. You could at least thank me for giving your sorry ass a place to sleep, you know.” 

Frank flipped him off. “I have a place to sleep. My room. Why didn’t you take me _there_ , Toro?” 

“Please. I could barely get you to the car, you dick, I wasn’t gonna go to your place where I had to drag you up the fucking stairs.” Ray scoffed. “Of the three of us, my room was, unfortunately, the only one on the ground floor so it was decided that we’d dump you here.”

Frank scowled at him. “Please stop being so goddamn cheery. Do you have any aspirin?” 

“Way ahead of you. It’s to your left.” Frank forced his eyes open entirely and gulped down the two aspirin. Then he looked up to Ray who was practically vibrating with energy and grinning like a loon. 

“Seriously, Toro, the fuck’s wrong with you?” Frank rasped, raising an eyebrow. Ray beamed at him. 

“I’m just in fucking awe, man. Killing two birds with one stone like that, fucking _amazing_!” he laughed, “You should have fucking _seen_ Jamia’s face when we found you with your hand down Way’s jeans.” He cackled loudly, “I thought she was gonna burst! And then Way’s face when Bob laid things down for him, oh my god, it was truly a moment to relish!” His face looked blissful. 

Frank just stared. Two birds with one stone? Jamia? His fucking hand down-- Oh. Oh shit. Oh _shit_. 

His head shot up and he had to force down bile again. When his vision stopped watering and he was pretty sure he could talk without throwing up, he looked at Ray again. 

“Ray, what did Bob say?” he asked urgently, ignoring Ray’s partially concerned and partially confused look. He didn’t fucking care if he acted as though he had lost his mind, he had to know what Bob had said and he had to know _right now_. 

Ray shrugged. “Just the way things are? That we’d always known he was a faggot, that you’d never hang out with him, y’know, for real.” He snorted, “It was pretty hilarious actually, He looked all fucking crushed-- Frank?” 

Frank elbowed his way past Ray and into the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach in the toilet bowl. 

+++ 

On Monday, Frank cornered Gerard at his locker. Or rather, he tried to. 

“Fucking get your hands off me!” Gerard bit out, his voice uneven, yanking his arm out of Frank’s grasp and stalking off, through the door and onto the school courtyard. He walked on, Frank trying to catch up. 

“Gerard, I-” 

Gerard whirled around before Frank could say something. “No.” he snapped, his eye flashing dangerously. “I don’t want to _fucking hear it_.” He shook his head and laughed a little, condescendingly, as if mocking himself, “I should have known.” 

“I wasn’t-- Gee--” 

But Gerard wasn’t listening. “I should have known when you waltzed into my house and starting talking about art and about fucking zombie movies!” 

His face was sneering by now and Frank could feel his insides twist up through the pounding of his head and the rolling of his stomach. “Gerard…” 

“No,” he said, his voice raised and angry. “ _Your_ kind doesn’t change. You don’t suddenly turn out to be nice or--“ 

“My kind?” Frank interrupted, “what the hell are you talking about, my kind?” 

“Your kind, Frank! The kids who have lunch by The Wall, and who hang out at Alicia’s every goddamn weekend and who make friends with artsy losers as an elaborate fucking practical joke!” Gerard was shouting by now, emphasizing his point with arm gestures. People were gathering around them, forming a circle, but Gerard wasn’t looking at them. 

“I get it! You thought you were being really funny, didn’t you? Really original? Humiliating the artsy faggot!” Gerard laughed disdainfully. “You’re disgusting. And you know what else, Frank Iero? You’re a _failure_. You may be the guy with all the friends and the college girlfriend; and yeah, maybe I’m the artsy loser. But in a few years, I will have graduated art school. And the best _you_ will ever accomplish will be getting the graveyard shift at the local fucking McDonalds.” He mocked, “Enjoy your spot on top while it lasts. Because the times, they are changing.” 

And with that, Gerard turned around and pushed his way through the crowd that surrounded the two of them, leaving Frank standing there, staring after him, eyes fixed long after he couldn’t see Gerard anymore. 

+++ 

He went back to Gerard’s house that afternoon. It was almost like a weird parody of that other night he’d come here, that one night where everything had changed from “I _hate_ that fucking asshole!” and snowballed over “Hey, yeah, okay. He’s actually kind of nice. And. Y’know. I’d kiss him.” And straight on into “Jesus fuck, yes, please, god.” 

At which point the snowball had slammed into a wall and exploded in his face. 

It took him longer to screw up the courage this time, longer to square his shoulders and walk up to the front porch. His fingers hesitated over the doorbell and the only reason he actually pressed it in the end was because a noise from on the street startled him and his hand jolted. 

Mikey opened this time. He looked at Frank pensively for a few moments before starting to talk. 

“Gerard came home today in a fucking pissy mood, raging about you. He threw a teacup at my head when I asked him what was wrong and he’s been blasting Iron Maiden ever since. Then you show up, looking guilty as fuck.” He paused for a second. “Give me a good reason why I should let you in.” 

Frank blew out a breath he hadn’t know he was holding in. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, “but I’m gonna get him to listen until it he fucking hears what I have to say so it might be easier on the both of us if you just let me up now.” 

Mikey seemed to be weighing this in his mind before stepping back and gesturing Frank to come inside. “I won’t help you up if he kicks you off of the stairs, you know that, right?” 

Frank cracked a grin. “Yeah. Thanks, Mikey.” Mikey just nodded and went off into the direction of the kitchen, while Frank went up the stairs and made his way to where he knew Gerard’s room was. The music was blasting indeed, and Frank idly thought that it was a good thing Gerard’s parents were rarely at home because he was pretty sure they wouldn’t have approved. 

He stood in front of the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a few seconds, debating how to go into the room, but in the end he just grabbed the handle and opened the door. He was pretty certain that Gerard wouldn’t hear him knocking anyway. 

He located Gerard on one of the couches next to one of the windows, crouched over an open sketchpad, a piece of charcoal moving in furious strikes. He stood by the door for a few moments, his eyes trained on Gerard. He must have moved in some way though, some motion Gerard saw through his peripheral vision, because suddenly Gerard’s head whipped up and he was staring at Frank. 

His face was completely expressionless for a second and then it contorted into a scowl, right before he turned back to his sketchbook, ignoring Frank. 

Oh no, you don’t, Frank fumed internally and stalked across the room, turning off the music with a soft click. He stared defiantly at Gerard through the deafening silence. His head had snapped up again at the sudden stop of noise. His sketchbook was slack in his hands but his eyes were blazing. 

“ _Don’t_ ignore me.” Frank snapped. 

Gerard sneered in return. “Get the fuck out of my house, Iero.” 

“No.” Frank replied, his voice hard and even. “You threw that almighty bitchfit this afternoon, you got your message across loud and fucking clear, and now you are going to listen to what _I_ have to say.” 

Gerard threw his sketchbook to the side and got up. “One: do _not_ fucking tell me what to do,” he bit out, “and two: why the fuck should I give you the time? Did I not make myself clear enough this afternoon when I told you that you _disgust_ me?” 

Frank gritted his teeth. “You got to say your piece, asshole, now it’s my turn to say mine.” 

“Oh, yeah, now you’re definitely scoring points, what with insulting me.” 

“I’m not trying to score fucking points. I’m trying to make you see some goddamned sense!” 

Gerard flopped down on his bed and spread his arms in a caricature of some kind of circus character, laughing mockingly. “Well, fucking humour me, then!” He lifted himself up, his eyes still fierce with anger, “Fucking _enlighten_ me with your pathetic excuses and fucking grade-A bullshit!” 

“It wasn’t a joke.” Frank said quietly. “No elaborate practical joke, no scheme, no plans for humiliation.” He paused, “In fact, I thought you knew me better than that.” 

Gerard pushed himself up. “Get out of my room.” 

“For fuck’s sake, will you fucking see sense!” Anger flared up in Frank’s stomach as he crossed the room and closes his fingers around Gerard’s arm. Fucking pigheaded, stubborn little asshole, he thought angrily. 

Gerard violently yanked his arm out of Frank’s grasp and when he turned around he was scowling so fiercely and looking so angry, Frank was mildly surprised in the back of his head that there wasn’t any foam at the corners of his mouth. 

“Get your filthy hands off of me!” he snarled, his voice low and his eyes narrowed. And at that moment something in Frank snapped, morphed from indignation and something bordering on despair to shake some sense into Gerard, into hot, blinding anger. 

“Funny,” he sneered, "you seemed all too keen to have my hands on you last night.” 

Gerard's face drained of all colour, before two red flushes appeared on his cheekbones. “Shut your mouth,” he hissed viciously. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Frank laughed nastily, “In fact, I think I kinda like the way this conversation is going.” He walked forward until the back of Gerard’s legs hit the side of his bed and there was only a hairsbreadth of space between them. “Did you like it, Gerard?” he murmured, his voice low and his eyes locked with Gerard’s. “Did you whack off about it later? About my fingers curled around your cock, my mouth on your neck? Did you fantasize about my mouth on your cock, my lips stretching over the hea-” 

Gerard’s hands shoved him in the chest. He was breathing heavily and the two bright red spots on his cheeks were even more pronounced than before. “That was different,” he said, his eyes wide and his hands shaking just a little bit. He took a breath and composed himself, his eyes steely again and the tone of his voice hard. “That didn’t mean a _thing_. It was just coincidence and two horny teenagers!” 

Frank laughed mockingly, “It was just coincidence and two horny teenagers,” he parroted, “Oh really?” He swaggered forward until Gerard’s legs were pressing against the bed again and angled his head forward, looking Gerard square in the eye, his eyes glinting with a liquid heat. “ _Prove it_ ,” he breathed, and pressed his lips hard to Gerard’s, his hands coming up to tangle in Gerard’s hair. 

Gerard went completely still for a moment, before struggling to pull his head away, but Frank persisted. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue over Gerard’s lower lip, prompting a soft groan. The world tilted as he pressed himself up against Gerard, but too late he noticed it was because they were falling back onto Gerard’s bed. 

They bounced on Gerard’s mattress and all the oxygen left Frank’s lungs for a second as he thumped on Gerard’s chest. He could feel Gerard’s hands scrabbling to find their way between them to push him off so he did the only thing that made sense to him. He latched his lips onto the pulse point on Gerard’s neck and Gerard gave a breathy groan in return, his hands falling back. 

Frank trailed his lips along Gerard’s chin and back up to his mouth where he attacked again with a new fierceness, met halfway by Gerard’s open mouth. He was panting, he could hear himself, but it hardly mattered as he lost himself in the kiss. He tangled his hands in Gerard’s hair again and licked into Gerard's mouth, prompting a series of beautifully incoherent noises. 

He grinned when he felt Gerard’s fingers tugging on his own hair and pulled back, his lips leaving Gerard’s mouth again to trail a path to Gerard’s ear, sucking the earlobe between his lips. Gerard’s breaths were loud and echoed by his own, and a loud moan resounded through the room as Frank bit down, and then licked and sucked a little to soothe the sting. 

Gerard pushed him off, and for a moment Frank cursed the Gods that they gave Gerard such a fucking steely stubbornness that he could still refuse to cooperate. But when he looked Gerard in the eyes he could see wide eyes and dilated pupils. Gerard’s breathing was panting, and he curled his hand around Frank’s tie and dragged him forward to the head of the bed, until they were both on their knees on the mattress, facing each other, their mouths pressing together again in a bruising kiss. 

“Off, off” Gerard muttered against Frank’s lips, pawing at Frank’s shirt, sliding his hands underneath, raking his nails over Frank’s back. Frank shuddered and pulled away from the kiss, fumbling with his tie before untying it and tossing it to the side, pulling his dress shirt and the tee underneath off in one smooth motion. 

Gerard had shrugged off his shirt as well and his eyes were dark with want when their gazes locked again. Frank licked his lips and then Gerard was pressing him down on the mattress, covering his body with his own. He moaned and arched up as Gerard unintentionally pressed his thigh against Frank’s hard cock. Gerard gave him a feral grin, before dipping down and kissing his way along Frank’s chin, down his neck to his collarbones, periodically stopping to suck and leave a mark. 

“God,” Frank groaned, “Gee!” Gerard’s name came out as a whimper when Gerard rolled his hips against Frank’s, causing delicious friction. Gerard groaned himself and threw his head back when Frank pressed his hips up in response. 

Frank was panting. “Thought about this,” he breathed, hooking his legs behind Gerard’s and thrusting up against him. “Thought about you while,” he moaned, “while touching myself.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gerard groaned and latched onto Frank’s earlobe again, his hips pressing down to match Frank’s rhythm. “Frank. God.” His voice was rough, low and dark, and every nonsensical word was like a caress on Frank’s body. He upped the tempo of the thrusts, his hands now both curled in Gerard’s hair as Gerard’s mouth travelled down the side of his face and bit down slightly on his neck. 

“Thought about- _God_ ,” he groaned, untangling his hands and running up and down Gerard’s bare back, sliding into his jeans and cupping his ass, “Thought about touching you, about sucking you off-- _Fuck!_ ” Frank exclaimed as Gerard pressed his hips down hard, and then he was coming, stars exploding behind his eyelids and his vision greying a little bit on the edges, sobbing Gerard’s name. 

He arched up once more and he could hear Gerard suck in a breath and could tell by the loud, desperate moan and the way he slumped down onto him that Gerard had followed him over the edge. Seconds later Gerard rolled off him and faced him, smiling sleepily. Frank smiled back and then tucked himself closer to Gerard, his eyes slowly falling closed as the breathing next to him evened out. 

+++ 

It was dark when Frank pulled up to the old mill. He'd woken up a while ago to a dark blue and purple sky and an empty bed; with half-dried come on the inside of his boxers and a wet spot on his jeans. 

He sighed and thunked his head on the steering wheel. God, what the hell was he doing? What kind of mess had he gotten himself into? 

Maybe he could still go back, back out of here and drive home and pretend none of this had ever happen-- No, he cut himself off, before turning off the car and getting out. He wasn't gonna run away from this. It wouldn't solve anything.

Gerard was a bit further down the road, sitting on a long branch of wood that had cracked off the mill a while ago. "I thought I'd find you here," Frank said as he sat down next to him and then wordlessly accepted the cigarette Gerard offered him. He lit it and they sat down, smoking in silence for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry," Frank eventually said, "I was mean and agressive and I shouldn't have--"

"Don't," Gerard said, holding up his hand in protest, and Frank shut up.

"Were you--" Gerard took a breath. "Were you saying the truth, earlier? About the. About the joke?"

Frank started. "Yes! Of course I was. God, Gerard, I can't believe you would think I'm the kind of person who would pull shit like that." he exclaimed.

"You would have. Don't be a hypocrite, Frank. Before this, you would have."

Frank closed his mouth. Gerard was right. He would have. Before this whole...thing, he'd disliked Gerard so much, he would have done a lot to humiliate him.

"You're right," he whispered, and strengthened his voice. "I _would_ have. Emphasis on the past tense, because I would never, _never_ do a thing like that now."

Gerard didn't react, he just kept staring ahead of him and taking periodical drags from his cigarette.

"You took a long time getting out of the car, before."

"I was nervous," Frank replied honestly. "This... this isn't a situation I've ever been in and I didn't have a clue what I was supposed to do. I was debating whether or not I should back out and run home or not?"

Gerard smiled. "I'm glad you didn't." he said evenly, and Frank smiled back.

"So am I." he said, stubbing his cigarette out on the branch and fixing his eyes on Gerard. 

"So what happens now?" Gerard said. "Because if you're gonna give me some sort of rehearsed speech--"

"I'm not." Frank said. "What happens now is we get in the car, go to your place and find some way to convince your brother that the reason I'm wearing a pair of your jeans is _not_ because mine have stains all over them. Then we go back to your room, make out for a bit until dinner, during which we'll politely fend off Mikey's hounding, and make out some more on the porch and then I go home. And tomorrow we'll do it all over again."

Gerard snorted. And then--

"You're wearing a pair of my jeans?!"

Frank laughed and twined his fingers through Gerard's hand. "I really like you. I think you're funny, sly and sexy as hell. "

Gerard flushed and ducked his head. "I just don't. People at school--"

"Fuck 'em." Frank said evenly. "We graduate in a few weeks anyway, and we can keep it under wraps until then if that's what you want."

Gerard sighed. "Look, Frank, I just. I'm not sure if this is a good idea."

Frank lifted their still linked hands. "Neither am I, to be perfectly honest. But," he sighed and untangled their fingers, fixing his gaze on Gerard's. "If you can tell me, honestly, to my face, that you don't want this, I'll back off. I'll leave you alone, not bother you again, the whole nine yards. But you-- There's something _there_ , Gerard, can you honestly tell me you don't feel a single thing?"

A long silence fell, and Frank squeezed his eyes shut when Gerard didn't say a thing. Oh. So this was what being heart-broken felt like, he thought feebly. He was just about to get up when Gerard's fingers twined through his own, and he felt the iron grip on his lungs loosen.

"You'd better not got any spots on those jeans, y'know," Gerard smiled hesitantly and Frank laughed and pressed his lips to Gerard's.

"C'mon, Romeo," he said, smiling against Gerard's lips, "let's go home."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
